


Significant Others

by hit_the_books



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abduction, All sex with Sam/Dean/Cas is consensual, Alternate Season/Series 12, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Bottom Sam Winchester, Case Fic, Eventual Happy Ending, Frottage, Haunting, Humiliation, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Sexual Strangulation, POV Alternating, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Rough Oral Sex, Sam Abducted, Sam Winchester Whump, Serial Killers, Sibling Incest, Top Castiel, Top Dean Winchester, Wincestiel - Freeform, tfwbigbang2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-20 23:28:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11931591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books
Summary: Team Free Will take a break from tracking Kelly Kline to investigate a haunting in Augusta, Kansas. The case is simple enough, as far as anything with the Winchesters can be. But it's what happens after the case that threatens to shatter Cas, Dean and Sam's world, when Sam is abducted by a fledgling serial killer.





	1. Confident

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for the Team Free Will Big Bang 2017. I'm one of the mods who has worked to bring the bang back for the first time since it last ran in 2014.
> 
> Thank you to crowleykoh85 for his amazing art to go with this fic. [You can check out the art masterpost here](https://crowleykoh85.tumblr.com/post/164856379700/significant-others-art).
> 
> Thank you to my beta readers [just-another-busy-fangirl](http://just-another-busy-fangirl.tumblr.com/) and [CeNedraRiva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeNedraRiva) for all their suggestions and help C:
> 
> But also: thank you to everyone who's helped me resurrect this bang (including my co-mod [majesticduxk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/majesticduxk)). Seeing the enthusiasm other SPN fans have for Sam, Dean and Castiel has been a wonderful thing.
> 
> In case you don't know just how much I cherish Team Free Will, while this bang was running this year, I got myself my third tattoo, [a Team Free Will one, with the design by soluscheese representing these three adorable goofballs](https://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com/post/163527642545/heres-my-new-supernatural-team-free-will).
> 
> I hope you, dear reader, enjoy my fic. For the worst acts committed against Sam by an OMC, I have put notes at the start of their respective chapters to warn you.

“I know you’re awake.”

Unable to hide this simple fact any longer, Sam blinked his eyes open, assessing his body and his surroundings as he had been taught to so many years ago by his brother.

His neck hurt on one spot and his wrists and ankles were sore, which was to be expected with the leather cuffs tight around them. The cuffs were secured by chains to a wooden bed. The blackness of the cuffs told Sam that they were likely for BDSM play and not for holding people captive against their will. He was still in his running gear, though his sneakers and socks were gone. The room was 14 by 17 feet, fifties build if the exposed brickwork was anything to go by, at least five stories up if Sam was judging correctly the sunlight coming through a partially boarded up window. He wasn’t gagged. The room smelt musty, but not mouldy, the roof and guttering were intact.

Sam observed all of this as his captor walked from one side of the room to another, floor boards creaking beneath his slow steps. Not only was the building fifties build, it was likely abandoned too. No one would hear him scream. Rarely did Sam feel true terror, but he was feeling it now.

“Strong silent type, huh?” asked the unfamiliar white man, voice tinged with a Texan drawl. Sam looked him over, figured he was in his late twenties or early thirties. Freshly ironed gray plaid buttoned up to the last two buttons suggested college educated, though the guy’s closely cropped tawny hair and generic stonewashed jeans suggested a modest upbringing. He didn’t look nervous or scared, like he might have done this before.

Trying not to react, Sam tried to remember how he could have ended up in this room. He had been out running, obviously, and he’d gotten ten minutes from the motel that he’d been staying at with Dean and Cas… _The car with the flat tire_ , Sam thought. He remembered offering to help turn a tire jack for the guy—he’d been struggling with it. _My neck…_ _Of course, he must have snuck up on me while I was distracted and injected me with something. But why? He doesn’t seem like someone from the British Men of Letters… Or a hunter_.

Sam offered his abductor a quizzical look and the guy narrowed his eyes at Sam. _Predatory, confident he’s in control… which he isn’t half wrong about, I can’t feel any give in these cuffs and I can’t reach my mouth. It wasn’t chance that led to him taking me_ , Sam noted, paying close attention to the way the guy kept trying to devour him with his gaze. _Not many people were going to be jogging by that stretch of road at 5 in the morning._

“Nothing? C’mon… you always had so many words before.” The guy stopped at the foot of the bed. The statement confirmed Sam’s suspicion that the guy had been watching him and it made a sort of sense. For the entire duration of the haunting they’d been working, Sam had felt like they were being watched whenever they hit any of the diners or bars in town. Even the library when he’d gone there to look at local newspaper archives—it could have been the ghost, but it hadn’t had that icy edge a specter normally has. Instead it had been more human, more “interested”.

Trying not to stare, Sam considered whether giving his captor what he wanted was a good idea. Should he talk? The guy was scratching at a part of Sam’s brains, part of his memories and knowledge that he didn’t use very often. The part that had sat through more real crime documentaries than he would ever admit watching, to Dean or Cas. A part that had been excited when he and Dean had visited the former home of Lizzie Borden.

Only, if Sam was ever going to encounter a serial killer, he had kinda hoped he would have been dressed in more than shorts and a tank top. He didn’t run with his gun, only his cell and some picks he kept in his sneakers, because he never knew when local law enforcement might pick him up. And he never ran when he thought the subject of their case would come and chow down on his ass. The hunt was over, he’d been letting off some steam.

He hadn’t expected a needle when he’d gone to help this guy. Dean always said he was too trusting, spent too much time trying to see the best in people.

“Maybe I should give you something to scream about?” The man’s face split into a grin, teeth flashing.

Sam swallowed. “Hey, look, uh…”

“Call me Stephen.”

“Stephen, sorry for the silence. I’m just… a guy trying to come to terms with being in a, you have to admit, unusual situation.” Sam tried to meet Stephen’s eyes, but his captor looked away.

“You should know why,” Stephen growled. “God, you… and… fuck.” Stephen looked up, but stared at a space several inches to the side of Sam’s eyes. “I was there and you ignored me. Ignored me. But I was there.”

Stephen went on and on, telling Sam again and again that he should have known why he was in that room, restrained to a bed. Each word made Stephen shake, fury rippling through him like a wildfire on the verge of burning out of control. Then the words stopped, leaving only the sound of Sam and Stephen breathing. Sam had no idea what was going to happen next, but he tried not to look scared.

Muscles tensing, Stephen suddenly launched himself onto the bed crawling up Sam’s body at speed until he was kneeling, legs on either side of Sam’s chest. Sam had seen the look in Stephen’s eyes in Gordon’s; Alastair's… Lucifer’s. A pit of sharpened cruelty that would slice open the unwary.

Sam struggled against his bonds as Stephen wrapped his hands around Sam’s neck and squeezed, cutting off his air. He couldn’t break Stephen’s hold, and as his lungs screamed for air, Sam slowly felt his vision blacken as unconsciousness gripped him and dragged him down.

***

_Three days earlier…_

“I think I’ve got us a case,” Dean announced, eyes glued to his laptop screen. He had been trawling through news reports since he’d had his coffee that morning, looking for something they could help with.

Sam and Cas looked up from the angel lore books they’d been pouring over, looking for some kind of answer on how to handle the Kelly-Nephilim situation. The way they snapped the covers shut told Dean that it was another dead end. Yeah, a case would do them good—just haul ass out of the Bunker for a while and take on something that didn’t involve the Devil or those British Men of Letters assholes.

“Whatcha got?” Sam asked, stretching out, long legs bumping against Dean’s under the library desk.

“Alrighty… series of deaths near Wichita, over in Augusta. All the victims were in their homes; no sign of forced entry; doors and windows locked from the inside…”

“How’d they die?” Sam interrupted.

“I’m getting to that. So, each of the victims, according to the coroner’s reports, were found with their brains liquified, likely due to high voltage. But the points of contact for the current look like they were left by index fingers.”

“As if someone had held their finger to their forehead like this?” Cas asked, touching his finger to Sam’s forehead, like he would if he were about to heal him.

“Yeah, just like that.”

Sam gently swatted Castiel’s finger away and frowned. “Well, we’ve run into electrocuting ghosts before,” Sam offered, voice tinged with guilt.

Dean winced. _Yeah, yeah we have…_ “It’s operating in multiple locations, which is kinda unusual.”

“They must have something that connects them to the ghost, if it is a ghost,” Cas pointed out, gravelly voice sending a shiver down Dean’s spine. Dean swallowed and mentally shook himself. They had a case to work, he needed to focus.

Checking over the local media reports and police files he’d managed to access, Dean tried to look and see if anything connected them. “Nothing obvious from what’s been recorded, other than they all live in Augusta.”

“We can be there before dinner,” said Sam. The three of them didn’t need any more agreement than that.

“Okay, we roll in ten…” Dean got up from the desk and closed his laptop.

The three of them scrambled about the Bunker, getting supplies, clothes, everything they would need going out on a hunt. And extra rocksalt shells of course. Even though they all slept in the same bed these days, Sam tended to keep his clothes and things in his own room, because the queen in Dean’s room meant they couldn’t fit another wardrobe in there. Cas also kept some of his things in Sam’s room. It made sense, since the space was available.

Heading out, Dean felt happy to be with Sam and Cas as they drove to a new case. It had been uncomfortable being cramped up in the Bunker so much after breaking out of government custody. Dean had missed the sky so much, he’d taken to going on hikes around the Bunker and volunteering to grab groceries most of the time. Cas had joined him a fair few times as he hiked up into the trees, either talking about the wildlife and plants they saw, or otherwise offering a companionable silence.

And Dean hadn’t failed to notice the way Sam was going out on far more runs after they’d gotten free. He’d wake up before dawn and head out, doing his best not to jostle Dean and Cas, but Dean would always open an eye, and sleepily look at Sam as he slunk off to grab his running gear from his room. Like clockwork, he’d always be back in time for breakfast, sweaty and gasping for another bottle of water.

Sticking a cassette of “Green River” into the stereo, Dean got a surprised look from Sam as the folky rock started to swell over the speakers. “I don’t always listen to mullet rock,” Dean pointed out.

Sam held his hands up in supplication. “I’m not saying you do, just… CCR? Makes a, um, nice change.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean tapped along to the melody, hands making a steady beat on the steering wheel.

Leaning in between Dean and Sam, Cas was actually smiling as he said, “I am enjoying the imagery being conjured by the lyrics and tune. It is incredibly pleasant.”

“You never talk about my music,” Dean pointed out, quickly glancing between Sam and Cas. He was being ganged up on. “ _Never._ ”

“Just makes a nice change,” Sam teased.

“Oh my god… And what the hell was with that Vince Vicente binge you went on awhile back?” Dean kept his eyes on the road, but he knew that Sam was offering him bitchface number 37: the one pulled out when Dean teased at his tastes in music.

“It was—”

“Hair metal, Sam. Hair metal. I don’t need to say anymore.”

“Dean, it’s not fair to make fun of Sam’s listening habits, even if the man behind the band ended up becoming a vessel for Lucifer.”

“Oh for…” Sam threw his hands up and Dean smirked.

“Don’t worry, I hear that the music of our youth is the most formative. So Sammy, you’ll always have crap taste in music. It’s inevitable. Nothing we can do about it now,” Dean teased and winked at Cas in the rearview mirror.

Bitchface 37 came back and Sam scowled as he looked up case information on his phone. Maybe it was a good thing that the case was close to the Bunker, less than a four hour drive. Dean wasn’t sure if he could hold back from teasing Sam anymore than he already had.

“An' if you get lost come on home to Green River. Well, come home,” sang John Fogerty, the final bridge of the song playing out and then the tape rolled onto the album’s second track.

Relaxing into the rest of the album, Dean sighed as Castiel’s long fingers reached up to the back of his neck and gently stroked him, the touch fond and loving. The two of them would have to make it up to Sam later, Dean was sure of that. Maybe get him a healthy smoothie and/or blow him. _Could blow him while he tries to drink the smoothie, maybe Cas could finger him open,_ Dean thought distractedly and then tried to will down the sense of arousal that he’d started to feel at thinking about blowing Sam.

He couldn’t help that he still got so excited about that sort of thing, but then he figured it was a good thing he still wanted Sam and Cas. Sure it was an “unconventional relationship”, but he knew relationships often didn’t last as long as theirs had, or through half as much. _We should get medals or somethin’, for being together so long_ , Dean thought to himself as he followed the road.

***

Inside Castiel’s mind, thousands of thoughts would tick away, all cycling through their various paths of logic or checking through memories, all at once. Including the part of his mind that would count the seconds that had passed since Sam had left on his early morning run. Normally, Sam would be out running for, on average, three thousand eight hundred and ninety seconds. Slightly fewer if he really hit his stride, or slightly more if he was feeling winded.

But it was incredibly rare for Sam to be out beyond four thousand five hundred and thirty-three seconds. On the morning that Sam was taken, that was how many seconds had passed before Castiel became worried and got out of bed. He found his cell beside his neatly folded slacks and dialled Sam’s number. Dean was still asleep.

The number rang several times before connecting to Sam’s voicemail and his message played, stirring Castiel’s concern. He couldn’t help worry about Sam, not after what had happened with the British Men of Letters on Castiel’s watch. So without waking up Dean, Castiel booted up Dean’s laptop and followed the instructions he had been taught on how to track cellphones by their GPS. A few minutes and careful typing later, and Castiel had a fix on Sam’s cell location, some six miles away from the motel. He waited a few minutes and then refreshed the location information.

The dot that represented Sam’s cell did not move. Concern turning into panic, Castiel went over to Dean and tapped the older brother’s shoulder. “Dean,” said Castiel. “Dean,” he repeated, voice getting louder, his tapping finger more insistent.

“W-what?!” Dean jolted awake, right hand plunging for the handgun under his pillow. He was halfway to pointing it at Castiel when he seemed to realize that Castiel was who had disturbed his sleep.

“Dean,” repeated Castiel.

“What, Cas? If this is about getting coffee, I’m—” Dean yawned. “Pretty sure that you can get your own coffee.”

“No, it’s not about coffee. It’s Sam, he hasn’t come back from his run yet and his cell’s been in the same location for… more than five minutes now.”

“You sure he ain’t just stretching? Tried calling him?”

“I tried calling and it went through to voicemail, and he is normally back well before now. Dean, we need to go and find him,” Castiel tried to explain in a level voice.

Sleepiness suddenly leaving him, Dean scrambled out of the queen sized bed and grabbed the jeans he’d left on the back of a chair. Copying Dean’s urgency, Castiel quickly got dressed as well. In under a minute, the two of them were driving off in the Impala, heading towards the position that Sam’s cell appeared to be in.

Optimism was not something Castiel was able to maintain as the Impala roared down the road. He was sat in the front seat, beside Dean, angelic eyesight able to see into the semi-darkness far more easily than any human eyes.

“Here,” Castiel announced and Dean stopped the car. There was no sign of Sam as Castiel opened the passenger door and got out of the Impala. He looked around the side of the highway, looking off into the brush, but there was no sign of Sam. Dean had gotten out of the car and was shouting Sam’s name, but Castiel blocked out Dean’s voice as he focused on anything that might sound like Sam.

Scanning their surroundings, Castiel finally spotted Sam’s cell phone in the dirt, earphones still plugged in. He walked up to the cell and picked it up, something akin to shock snapping at his system, making his vessel tremble on the minutest level.

“SHIT!” Dean swore as he came to stand beside Castiel and took the cell from his hands. The screen was cracked from the cell phone being dropped.

Trying to bring his thoughts under control, Castiel attempted to recall seeing any signs of anything or anyone suspicious while they had been working the haunting. He’d seen no one acting as if they had intentions towards taking any single one of them. It was always a risk, especially with the British Men of Letters still of questionable allegiance, despite the help they’d offered.

There was nothing for several miles except for the road, nothing at all. It wasn’t a habited area, but as Castiel squinted more closely at the dirt beside the road, he saw fresh tire tracks. He pulled out his own cell and fiddled with the camera settings, eventually getting the flash to work as he took a photo of the tracks. He then started to hunt around the ground again. It felt callous, leaving Dean to stew, but he needed to see if there were any further signs of what had happened.

A sneaker imprint that looked like it was from Sam’s sneakers was near the tire track. And then he saw a needle sticking out of the brush, attached to some kind of hypodermic. If this had been different circumstances, Castiel would have made a joke about finding needles in haystacks, but he knew it wasn’t appropriate. Ignoring the panic that was still bubbling under his conscious and subconscious thought, Castiel picked up the syringe and sniffed at it, analyzing the molecules present in the device.

It smelled like it had contained some kind of sedative.

“What you got there?” Dean asked, voice strained.

“Whoever has taken Sam drugged him,” Castiel replied, carefully handing Dean the empty syringe.

“Crap,” Dean hissed, closing his eyes as if he were in physical pain.

Glancing around the side of the road once more, Castiel determined that they would learn nothing else there. He noted that the road was not well traveled, and thought that perhaps they would be able to find traffic cam footage closer to the city that showed vehicles that might have passed that way.

 _We will find Sam_ , Castiel reassured himself. Just as he was about to suggest to Dean that they head back to the motel so that they could check traffic cams, Dean slid to his knees. The older Winchester knelt in the dirt and cried silently, not calming down until Castiel knelt in the dirt beside Dean and hugged him close.

Even for a fallen angel, it was difficult for Castiel not to cry alongside Dean.


	2. Belief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: non-consensual touching in this chapter.

Stephen was more intelligent than Sam would have given him credit for, had he met the guy in a more normal situation. Every few hours, he’d dose Sam up with some kind of sedative, making it hard for him to think completely straight or have complete control over his limbs. Sam found this out after he woke up from being choked, neck sore and tender.

Panic would find him, regardless of the drugs in his system, but instead of having the energy to struggle against his restraints so that he could find a weak point, Sam could only lay in the bed and try to remain calm. This only worked for the first six hours after Sam woke up from being strangled, until Sam had to call out, because nature called.

Sam was under no delusion that he would be able to get free during a potty break. Though Sam had hoped that Stephen might un-restrain him and rely on the sedatives to keep him there, Stephen had other plans. He brought in a plastic urinal tube and pulled Sam’s running shorts and underwear down.

Prickling horror crept over Sam’s body, making him sweat and his hairs stand on end as Stephen cupped Sam’s soft cock and fed it through the top of the urinal. Then he let go of Sam and Sam couldn’t hold back any longer. He pissed into the urinal, shame and terror swirling inside of him as he emptied his bladder. Stephen watched the whole thing with far more interest than Sam was ever going to be comfortable with and he was beginning to get more of an idea as to why Stephen had abducted him in the first place.

Sam finished and Stephen placed the nearly full urinal on the floor, then tucked Sam back into his underwear and running shorts, the touch far more tender than Sam could take. Without a word, Stephen looked Sam over and then took the urinal out of the room. Wanting to have anything else to think about that wasn’t Stephen touching him, Sam mulled over the fact that Stephen had had the urinal in the first place: this wasn’t Stephen’s first rodeo.

Stephen having that bottled urinal in the first place meant that he had planned this, but thinking to keep something like that ready and waiting is the kind of habit that only comes from things getting messy in the past. _How many victims?_ Sam pondered, trying to stay calm. He had to focus on the fact that he was still alive and that Dean and Cas would probably be aware he was missing by now. There was no way they would be sitting on their asses, they’d be tearing up the place to find him, though Sam wasn’t sure how near Augusta he was.

He needed to find something else to focus on. He needed to understand Stephen more, so he could figure out how to humanize himself in Stephen’s eyes and ensure things didn’t go any further than they already had. It was hard, but Sam calmed his breathing as best he could, and thought back on the police files that they’d looked at, in investigating the haunting that had brought them to Augusta originally.

In trying to ascertain the reasons behind the haunting in the first place, the three of them had studied recent suspicious deaths and murders. There’d been several low risk victims, aged 20 to 37 whose deaths had been treated as murders, two women and a guy. Due to the third victim being male and the methods varying between the kills, the police hadn’t connected them or sought out help from an external agency like the FBI. Sam recalled looking at their files in the police station, dressed up as an FBI agent alongside Dean and Cas, fake badges in tow.

No one was treating the deaths that were related to the haunting as murders, despite the electrocution that had no known sauce and left a trail of ectoplasm in its wake. Not that the coroner had known that was what it was.

Sam shook his head and focused back on his memories of the files they’d passed on, because it wasn’t their ghost. _Okay, three white adults, one Augusta resident, two people who’d only just got to the city; deaths didn’t link up, because the MO changed. But…_ Sam thought back on all the knowledge he’d acquired on criminology and forensic psychology over the years, due to his hobby of following true crime and serial killers… _But what if he was still evolving?_

The files had included the coroner’s reports and all victims had been restrained, but the methods had varied. How the killer had killed each of them had varied too. The first showed no signs of sexual assault: Kitty Simmons, 25; working through community college; barista and girlfriend. Sam recalled how she’d been tied with rope, likely to a chair, and slapped repeatedly. No one had been able to find anyone in her life who likely wanted her dead. She’d been found disposed of in a dumpster behind a diner. Not the one she worked at. Suffocation had been the cause of death.

Floor boards creaked deeper into the apartment, but Stephen didn’t come back to Sam. Holding onto the facts about Kitty’s death, Sam continued to think over what he had read.

 _Okay, and the second victim had been Yuliya Reynolds, 30…_ Sam had seen in her file that it had said she was a college graduate who had been recently promoted in her sales job, and was making serious bank. She had a boyfriend, but no enemies—the boyfriend had talked about how he’d been on the verge of proposing to her when she’d gone missing. _And nothing with her crossed over with Kitty, and Yuliya had only just moved here. No obvious parts where their lives crossed. They didn’t even go to the same church…_ Yuliya had been found disposed of in a junkyard in a car ready to be crushed— _forensic countermeasure, trying to get rid of the evidence. They found a semen sample on her, she had been assaulted._

Sam racked his brain for how she’d died. _Okay, Yuliya was… fuck, she had her skull caved in from being beaten with something, like a baseball bat likely while tied to a bed with her own clothes._ Images of the crime scene photos flashed up into Sam’s mind’s eye and he tried not to vomit. It hadn’t been a pretty crime scene at the junkyard by any stretch of the imagination. _And victim number three, David Green… older, 34, working in an auto shop; college dropout…_

The scent of coffee hit Sam’s nostrils and he was snapped out of his thoughts. Stephen had, if the sucking noises were to be believed, put on a coffee maker. He couldn’t focus on it, Sam had to think back to David Green.

 _David… David… kicked post-mortem, strangled to death. Handcuffed to something, likely a bed headboard. Had a boyfriend… who wasn’t good for the murder, because he’d been visiting Wichita for a job interview. Had probably been assaulted, just not as anyone would have expected…_ The victim’s own semen had been found dried to the inside of his underwear and stuck to his penis. There’d been the insinuation that David had been cheating on his boyfriend and this jealous lover had killed him, but his boyfriend argued David had been faithful.

A spoon clinked against the side of a mug and Sam hoped that Stephen wouldn’t return soon. Sam would have felt hungry if he hadn’t passed that stage some time ago. Painfully swallowing, Sam ran over again and again what he knew about the cases, thinking more like an FBI agent than he had in some time. The victims were linked, Sam could feel it and he was frustrated that the chief of police in Augusta, the chief, had been angsty about the “FBI” (Dean, him and Cas) being there to look into the electrocution deaths. Arrogance and distrust had meant the real FBI hadn’t been called in, even though there was a serial killer lurking on Augusta’s streets.

_Restrained. Variations of beatings and asphyxiation. All had significant others. Forget ages, they were all in very loving relationships and close to their partners. Educated, more or less… Like me._

***

_Three days earlier…_

Rolling into Augusta, Dean took them to a motel first. It was early enough in the day that they could head to the police station, all suited up, and get a start on the case. A few of the vics hadn’t been handed over to their families yet, so Dean was planning on getting the okay to head to the morgue and check out the bodies.

Sam and Cas hung back in the Impala while Dean booked and paid for a room for the three of them. The motel reception was olive green, too warm and nicotine stained—much like the fingers of the gray haired woman behind the desk. She hardly spoke a word as Dean got a room with two queens. Though the three of them would probably end up all in the same bed. The second queen would be helpful for relaxing on anyway.

Dean paid in cash, not wanting to risk a card since they were so close to the Bunker, relatively speaking. He’d have to hustle some pool again soon to get more, but he didn’t mind taking Sam and Cas out to have some fun. Finding outside of the motel office actually cooler, Dean headed back to the Impala with the room keys in hand. Dean moved the Impala closer to their room, and then the three of them grabbed their gear and headed into their room.

“So, let’s suit up and then head down to the station,” Dean suggested as Sam checked a few things on his laptop.

“Will we be FBI?” Cas asked, looking at his tie in a wall mirror. The room was only marginally an improvement on the motel office. Walls some deep rose red, a little too close to blood for Dean’s liking, but at least there weren’t any water stains or anything that looked like someone else’s body fluids.

“Yeah,” Sam said, gaze still on his laptop screen. “But we need to be careful, I get the feeling they’re not too fond of fed involvement that much. The main thing we need to ascertain is if there’s a ghost working here.”

Dean nodded and started to undress. Lifting his shirts off, he caught Cas eyeing him up and Dean winked at the angel. The wink was meant to suggest that maybe they could do something involving nudity later on, but Dean wanted to focus on the case. Nine dead was bad enough, and if it was something supernatural—the job had to come first.

“It is unusual that the victims are dispersed throughout the city.” Castiel turned to the mirror and straightened out his tie and hair.

“Oh definitely.” Sam closed down his laptop and started changing into his own fed getup. Dean ignored the way the dress slacks Sam pulled on fitted so well around his ass.

The three of them made themselves respectable enough for showing up in the midst of local law enforcement. Heading back out to the Impala, weapons stowed on their person as needed, Dean got the car going and they headed for the station. It still surprised him that the police were handling the deaths on their own, but they just saw it as either a series of strange accidental electrocutions or a series of suicides. _People believe what they wanna believe_. Of course Dean’s gut was telling him it wasn’t suicides nor electrocutions.

“Once we're done here and the morgue, we’re grabbing a bite,” Dean announced. He didn’t fancy eating before looking at any bodies if he could help it. Sure his ability to handle looking at dead bodies had strengthened over the years, but there was no point in wasting a meal.

“Yeah, okay, though I think I’m gonna need a power bar in a minute.” Sam picked up the fake FBI badge he would be using.

“Should be some in the glove compartment.”

Everything had seemed completely normal when the three of them had filed out of the motel room and gone back to the car. The drive to the station didn’t take long at all. Dean noted that the place was probably no more than twenty years old, two floors, and small. That last part made sense with Augusta’s small population. Mentally psyching himself up, Dean led the way as the three of them bustled into the station and to the front desk.

“Can I help you?” asked a bored looking black male officer who was on reception duty. His brown eyes regarded the three of them with mild suspicion—Dean knew that look. It was the “Oh great, here come the feds” look that prevailed in police stations across the country. Scratching at his chin, the officer waited for an answer.

“Hey, I’m Agent Bonaduce,” Sam stated, pulling out his badge and holding it out so the officer could see it. “And this is Agent Cassidy.” Dean pulled his badge out and flashed it. “And Agent Page.” Castiel showed his badge.

“Okay, agents. What can I do for you?” The officer retained his bored expression and Dean was certain at this point that there wasn’t much love for the FBI in the city.

Dean stuffed his badge away. “Officer…?”

“Officer Rolands.”

“Officer Rolands, we’re here about those nine electrocution deaths.” Dean smiled in such a way as to suggest that he was not there to make fun of the officer, and that the three of them were just there to help out a little.

“We didn’t ask for the FBI to get involved.”

“Oh,” Sam started, “well, you see the deaths are similar to some electrocutions we saw in Idaho. Involving hair dryers used as a weapon and we just want to see if they’re related. All victims were found in their homes, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Cas leaned over the desk a little. “We need to see the bodies of those who haven’t been handed over to their family yet.”

Officer Rolands frowned, but picked up a phone on his desk. “I need to check with the chief first.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Dean gave another polite smile.

They waited as Officer Rolands talked with the chief and it was only a few minutes until Rolands hung up and nodded. “Okay, you can head on to the county coroner. Chief Turnbull is letting them know you’re on your way.”

“Thanks.” Dean nodded.

“Hairdryers as a weapon?” Officer Rolands gave them a disbelieving quirk of his eyebrow.

“You’d be amazed by the things people use as weapons. Again, thanks,” Dean repeated.

“Yeah, whatever.” Officer Rolands went back to whatever report he’d been working on while sat on front desk.

Dismissed, the three of them headed back out to the car while Sam looked up directions to the morgue. It wasn’t that far so they got into the Impala and drove a little deeper into Augusta.

“Is there anything that links the vics, other than that they’re all Augusta residents?” Dean asked, eyes on the road.

“Well… there’s been more than ten suspicious deaths of under 40s this past month.” Sam was flipping through files on his cell. “But only these nine have the same cause of death. Electrocution. All died within a week or so of each other.”

“If it is a ghost, a very prolific ghost, there has to be something all of the victims have in common,” stated Cas. Dean caught a glimpse of the angel in the rearview mirror, looking thoughtful as he tapped a finger on his chin.

“I really should have brought my laptop and hooked it up to my cell,” Sam grumbled, giving up on looking at the files on his cell phone. He stowed the device and looked over at Cas. “You’re right though, other than living in Augusta they all have to have something in common. Could be school. Could be where they get their morning coffee. Could even be an ex.”

Reaching the morgue, Dean parked up and the three of them bundled out of the car. Badges at the ready, they soon had the attention of county coroner Doctor Michelle Williams.

“Hairdryers, huh?” asked Doctor Williams with a note of surprise in her voice. Her blonde ponytail swished at the back of her head as she walked, reminding Dean of a horse.

“We’re just as nonplussed as you, Doctor Williams,” Sam supplied. “But anything is possible. We just need to see if the same level of electrical damage has been done. The killer in the other cases was very specific about the current used.”

“Oh, okay.” Doctor Williams opened up the doors to the morgue proper. All gleaming surfaces and stainless steel. One of the victims had already been pulled out onto one of the examination tables.

Dean repressed the need to shiver from the room’s chilled air or the sight of yet another dead body. The point of induction was clear on the woman’s forehead. Just the right shape and size for the tip of an index finger.

“So, this is Harriet Dennis. She was found dead in her house after not calling into work.” Doctor Williams grimaced.

“What state was the body in?” Sam asked, leaning in closer than Dean wanted to get there and then.

“Well, I wasn’t lying on the report when I said her brain was completely scrambled. Liquid. I mean, I get that the brain isn’t exactly solid, but it was like it had been pureed.”

Staring at the mark on Harriet’s skull, Dean frowned. The mark was less like a fingertip, but he was sure it was still some body part. “The reports said you’d found something else, coming out of the ears of the deceased. Something that wasn’t brain matter?”

“Right, just a sec.” Doctor Williams went to a near small clear doored refrigerator and opened it. Returning with a small stoppered test tube, Doctor Williams handed the tube to Dean.

“Now what’s this?” asked Dean, feigning complete unfamiliarity with the dark vicious contents of the tube.

“I have no idea.”

But Dean did have an idea, so did Sam and Cas as they looked at the tube with him. It was ectoplasm. There was a ghost on the loose in Augusta.

***

To say it felt like a repeat of when Sam was abducted by the British Men of Letters would have been an understatement. Castiel watched over Dean’s shoulder as he hacked into traffic cams in the area and traced backwards from the small road they’d found Sam’s cell on. In a way it was a good thing that Sam had been running so early in the morning, it meant there were fewer cars to identify.

Grace tingled under his skin as worry filled his being, Castiel kept himself in check as Dean worked the most important angle they had. He didn’t believe it could be the BMoL again. They had seemed to reach an impasse on that front, though the BMoL were not best pleased with how the Kelly situation was being handled. And Dean would have called their mom if he thought it was the BMoL. _Right?_ Castiel pondered, quirking his head as he looked over Dean’s shoulder.

“Okay, only two vehicles headed out towards the road Sam was on. And I’ve got their license plates.” Dean pointed at a piece of notepaper. “Just need to check the registrations against the DMV database.” The calmness in Dean’s voice as he spoke was a lie. Castiel could sense the concern coming off Dean in waves, could still see the microscopic crystals of salt that had been left by his earlier tears.

A few keyboard clicks later and Dean had the names of the vehicle owners. One was for a ten year old sedan, the other some pick-up truck. Both were owned by men. They went for the pick-up owner first, because they figured he had the most room to get Sam into his vehicle, plus he’d driven back past the traffic cam about half-an-hour later, around the time Sam would have been heading back. Neither vehicle owner seemed like BMoL candidates, though there was a chance that either could have been a hunter.

With part of his mind focused on the task at hand, other parts of Castiel’s wandering consciousness drifted over memories of Sam and Dean. Maybe it was his own dread at the situation that had part of Castiel seeking refuge in memories of happier times between the three of them...

They were in bed for the first time since Lucifer had been expelled from his body. Bodies and essences sore from fighting and shouting. Castiel was in the center of their bed for once, and the little spoon as Sam wrapped his arms around him from behind, hands resting over his vessel’s heart and his thigh. Dean’s had joined with Sam’s as he leaned in to kiss Castiel. The three of them were naked and wrung out. Not caring what Chuck or Crowley or Rowena might be doing in the Bunker as they tried to regroup and figure out their next step.

It was the first time the three of them had been together in months and Castiel felt like he didn’t deserve to be forgiven, but here were Dean and Sam Winchester with their big hearts, taking care of their angel. Castiel still wasn’t use to being alone in his vessel again, being able to spread his grace out to every cell of his body. But it felt good to feel Dean and Sam once more.

Each was a little older, a little wearier, and Castiel internally berated himself for not being there for them. For thinking that Lucifer had been what the world needed. What the world needed was beings that cared about it. And it wasn’t lost on Castiel that the time the three of them were spending together might be their last before the world ended, thanks to the Darkness.

“You,” Dean kissed Castiel, “are not,” kiss, “making any,” kiss, “big ass,” kiss, “decisions like,” kiss, “that again,” kiss, “unless you,” kiss, “talk to,” kiss, “us first.”

Lips swollen, Castiel gently nodded, Sam kissed up the back of his neck. He’d somehow forgotten how good it felt to touch and be touched. His vessel’s nerves tingled as fingers skimmed over his skin; Sam’s mouth worked over his neck and shoulders, and Dean kept kissing him. Each press of their lips told Castiel that he was loved and missed, asked he didn’t do anything crazy again, or at least in the short time the world had left.

Dean’s hard cock pressed up against Castiel’s thigh, as Castiel’s cock rubbed against Dean’s stomach, while Sam’s cock kept sliding against his cheeks. If this had been before his possession, they would have been deep inside each other already, but this wasn’t about sex. This was about reassurance and being certain that the three of them still wanted and needed each other. For a brief second, Castiel wished he could summon forth his wings and wrap the brothers in them, but alas they were still broken and healing.

 _Maybe they wouldn’t mind?_ Castiel thought in the present, sat beside Dean in the Impala as the two of them drove to the pick-up owner’s address. He prayed to Chuck that maybe Sam would be at this first human’s home and that they would be helping the police to arrest a dangerous man.

He hoped man, because if it was some kind of monster, there was no telling if Sam would be okay. Would have a chance of survival, and then Castiel scrapped that idea. _I should not forget Toni or the hunters who have lusted for the Winchesters’ blood previously…_ Castiel felt a twinge in his stomach at the state Sam had been found in, after being worked over by that woman and the partner of hers who Mary had shot.

Sun gaining in the sky, Dean pulled the Impala up outside of the pick-up owner’s home. The pick-up truck was there, all sleek black and floodlights. It was almost new, the owner some forty-something guy who may or may not have been on the verge of a midlife crisis if the truck was anything to go by.

No one was up and about on the suburban street. Castiel used the tiniest amount of grace to open it up and studied the truck. Senses reaching out and looking for any trace of Sam, from the smallest hair, or a fleck of blood. His preternatural senses worked over every inch of the pick-up while Dean kept watch, but Castiel found no trace of Sam, nor that the vehicle had been recently cleaned on the inside. The truck bed definitely showed no signs of Sam or recent cleaning.

Closing the driver’s door, Castiel turned to Dean. Dean’s jaw was tight with worry, though vibrating with the minutest of trembles.

“This vehicle was not used to take Sam,” Castiel announced.

Dean closed his eyes, took a deep breath and nodded. Without a word, the two of them returned to the Impala. They still had another address and car to check out—the sedan had driven back into Augusta proper not long after heading towards the road Sam had been on.

“We’ll find him,” Castiel offered to Dean.

Grunting, Dean’s hands tightly gripped the wheel.

Castiel would need to be the one who believed.


	3. Evolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Non-consensual frottage in this chapter.

The three of them were sat beside a lake shore. In the distance were the sounds of families and friends playing in the water. Laughter, happy screeches, splashing, sand-muffled steps. Everything was a picture of happy, wholesome normality. Even the three of them, to some extent. Sam had no idea where Dean had gotten the folding beach chairs, but their design looked vintage, quite possibly they had been ones left behind by the Men of Letters. The lake wasn’t that far from the Bunker after all, and Sam couldn’t imagine anyone staying full time in the Bunker unless it was absolutely necessary, like the world ending.

Neither Cas or Sam said anything, but they could feel the jitteriness coming off of Dean. He’d been human for a few weeks, but the Mark of Cain’s hold over Dean was still clear, still tainting everything he said or did. Sam and Cas had vowed to each other to keep a close eye on Dean. Vowed to find a cure, but today was for being normal. Sitting beside the lake, getting a tan, drinking some beers. Leaving hunting and research alone so they could just get themselves together again. They were together again and Dean wasn’t a demon anymore.

“Still sucks about your arm,” Dean grumbled. It was tough to know why exactly Dean thought it sucked—sucked because it meant Sam couldn’t safely hunt? Sucked because his brother/lover was hurt? Sucked because Cas couldn’t use his borrowed grace to heal it? Sucked because if the mark wanted Dean to kill Sam, it wouldn’t be a fair fight?

Sam grimaced and took a sip of beer. “Should be healed soon enough. Another week or so.”

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Cas offered. The angel held a cold beer between his hands, the top off, so as to look normal.

Sam looked at the condensation on Castiel’s bottle rather than at his face. “Don’t worry about it.” And he meant it, but he didn’t want to see the regret in Castiel’s face. If there was one thing Sam understood, it was feeling helpless and frustrated at not being able to help. That had been his life, in between Dean dying, becoming a demon and being cured of being a demon.

Silence settled between the three of them again, the only sounds the other people enjoying the lake shore that sunny day. Sam shifted in his seat, his winged arm twinging.

“Fuck, gonna make you feel so good,” Stephen whispered in Sam’s right ear.

Eyes snapping open, Sam caught up with reality, remembering where he was just as Stephen pinned Sam’s right shoulder down. Sam’s shorts and underwear had been pulled down and Stephen was undressed. Their cocks were lined up as Stephen rubbed the both of them together and Sam’s traitorous body responded. There was no way that Sam wanted to be hard, but his body wasn’t getting the message his mind was sending it.

Sam moaned.

“Christ. You’re… fuck… Perfect. Fucking perfect,” Stephen panted against Sam’s neck.

Part of Sam wanted to disassociate himself from what was happening to him. Head back to that lake shore dream, and remember things a little differently to what reality had been. And another part of Sam was angry as hell at being used like he was. This was his body, his domain and no one—no human, no demon, angel or devil—had a right to it.

But he couldn’t risk saying anything as Stephen used his body, because Sam knew, deep down, what Stephen was capable of. Sam strained against his anger and stayed quiet, making sure he didn’t shatter Stephen’s delusion, because to hold a mirror up right there and then would be dangerous.

“FUCK!” Stephen growled and Sam felt the killer’s release falling between them. He shook over Sam, but rather than collapse on top of him, Stephen knelt back and then laid his hands on Sam. Stephen pushed his fingers through the come on Sam’s stomach, ignoring Sam’s softening cock, and rubbed the come into Sam’s skin. Sam wasn’t stupid, he knew this was Stephen marking him.

Without any other words, Stephen climbed off of Sam and picked his clothes off the floor. Stephen the serial killer walked out of the room, leaving Sam exposed and shivering as a mixture of adrenaline and cold air made him tremble in his bonds. There was no point in crying. Sam decided he didn’t want to give Stephen the satisfaction of breaking him.

Sam tried to think, tried to ignore the cold he felt. _David had been found with his own semen stuck to him, so whatever this evolving ritual is, Stephen won’t stop at least until he’s… pleasured me_. A shiver ran down Sam’s spine that had nothing to do with the adrenaline that hadn’t been able to find any release.

As he felt the sedatives he’d been dosed with wearing thin, for the first time in a long time, Sam prayed. For the first time in a long while, Sam found himself cursing the sigils that Cas had etched into his ribs. He didn’t curse Cas, because he knew the angel had only ever been trying to protect him and Dean. But it was like the whole thing with Toni, and the government, again.

The floorboards creaked and Sam looked up to see Stephen as he reentered the room. His eyes trailed over Sam’s exposed body, and Sam’s nostrils flared in both fear and anger as his captor walked over to him. Sam stayed silent while Stephen pulled up his clothes again, but his muscles were tense and corded. Sam was expecting another needle, but even once his modesty (what little was left) was restored, no needle came.

Stephen sat on the edge of Sam’s bed and stroked the inside of his right arm. “You’re special, Sam. I don’t think Dean or Castiel get that. But I do, I can be there for you like they never were. Don’t you get it?”

Hearing this monster say Dean and Cas’s names made Sam’s heart thud hard in his chest. He tried to keep his breathing under control, tried not to show anything that might be seen as negative. Stephen really had been watching them during the hunt.

“I know this must be a lot for you to take in, Sam, but you’re going to like being with me,” Stephen promised, voice filled with a tenderness that made Sam’s skin crawl. It was a real change from the anger that had led to him strangling Sam. Knowing that Stephen was capable of something like that meant that Sam couldn’t let his guard down and assume he wouldn’t be attacked again. The man was too erratic to predict. And he now knew that Stephen didn’t care for consent.

David and the others had probably not played along, or not well enough, which was why they had wound up dead. All Sam had to do was keep going, no matter the delusions that Stephen wanted to spout. It was a fine line to walk, to give in and yet not give in, but Sam needed to have hope that his brother and angel would find him soon enough.

“Wow, Stephen… you’ve really put some thought into this, haven’t you?” Sam whispered, keeping his tone normal with a hint of admiration. _Just play along, Sam. Just play along._

***

_Three days earlier…_

“So, Casper’s taser happy second cousin is able to fry the brains of nine people in their homes. Now, I’m gonna guess that _hopefully_ the ghost’s original body isn’t spread between say, nine houses. And yet… you know something fucking tells me it probably is,” Dean griped as they got settled into the Impala. Victim number three’s house was going to be their next stop. Gail Tweeny had family, so there would someone to interview, unlike the first two vics.

Cas nodded, nestled between Sam and Dean in the front seat. Despite how tight it got sometimes, having the three of them there, it was nice to feel Cas pressed up against him. “Unfortunately, considering how ghosts are normally able to move beyond their final resting place, it could be parts of them. However, maybe we’ll be lucky and… it’s nine scarfs the deceased knitted and happen to be in the vics’ homes. Or the ghost has been somehow possessing them and then zapping them.”

“That would need a common object being passed between them,” Dean pointed out, eyes on the road. He tried not to think about what Bobby had once achieved with his old drink flask. “Say, Sammy, you got anything to link the vics yet?”

Sam hummed and said, “It looks like they all went to the same local high school. And other than living in Augusta, that’s the main thread connecting them right now. They graduated ten years ago.”

“Okay, so we’ll ask Gail’s parents if they remember anything sticking out about her time at school.”

A small sigh escaped Sam and he put his cell away. “If it is high school related, dollars to donuts it’s probably related to bullying…”

Dean winced and nodded.

“Or,” Sam continued, “some kind of jilted lover thing. However the ghost died, the people dying now are connected to that death.”

“But why electricity?” Cas asked aloud, voicing the same question Dean and Sam had undoubtedly been asking themselves over and over.

Cas was right to point it out. Dean sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and thought as he continued on the way to Gail’s parents’ address on the other side of town.

“Well, the last time we dealt with an electrocuting ghost, uh, it was Dr. Sanford Ellicott back in Rockford, Illinois,” Dean explained. “He’d been big into electroconvulsive therapy when he was alive, y’know, using it on patients.”

Sam coughed and picked up the story. “It seemed like he’d been pretty convinced about the _benefits_ of his treatment on his patients… that it carried on with him in death. Haven’t seen anything like it since, but you never know.”

“Are you saying that this ghost was hugely affected by electroconvulsive therapy?”

“Probably not, but maybe electricity had something to do with their death.” Dean peered at the houses coming into view on their right. “Okay, should be this one.”

Dean pulled the Impala up beside the curb and the three of them checked themselves over before piling out. The Tweeny’s home was over twenty years old, but looked solid enough, paint crisp as if it had been recently re-done. There was bags of garbage piling up to the side of the house. Clearly things hadn’t been great since Gail had died if the overall house maintenance was fine, but not those day to day things. The front lawn could do with a mow as well, Dean observed, as the three of them approached the front door.

“I’ll do the talking,” Dean announced as they reached the door. Neither Sam or Cas disagreed, so Dean rung the bell and waited.

Shuffled footsteps sounded from behind the door and then it was unlocked, a woman in her fifties opening it. She looked tired beyond her years and the gray at her temples looked new. Dressed in loosely fitting jeans and an old plaid shirt, it was clear to Dean that the woman had lost a lot of weight and suddenly.

“Mrs Tweeny? I’m Agent Cassidy,” Dean flashed his badge, “and my partners agents Bonaduce and Page. We need to ask you a few questions about your daughter, Gail.” Sam and Cas flashed their badges.

The assumed-to-be Mrs Tweeny frowned, but nodded at their badges. “What’s the FBI doing investigating Gail’s death?”

“Just to rule out foul play. While we have reason to believe faulty homeware might be at fault, we wanted to see if there were any similarities with another case we’re investigating involving hair dryers… there’s a chance it was something or someone else..” Dean gave Mrs Tweeny a somber smile.

“Oh… okay. Sure, come in. And call me Emma. Mrs Tweeny is my mother-in-law.” Emma stepped away from the door, making room for the three of them to pile into the house.

Led past walls covered in family photos, it was clear in years past that this had been a happy home. While much younger in most of them, Dean recognized Gail in the photos. She’d graduated high school and then gone onto college at Duke if one of the more recent photos was anything to go by. Gail looked happy, though a little distant, her auburn hair wavy and her face almost porcelain-fine.

Emma caught Dean staring at that college graduation photo. “Top of her class, graduated with honors… and she came home.” There was a hint of disappointment in Emma’s voice. She motioned for them to sit on the main living room couch while she took an armchair across from them.

The living room was homely and like dozens that Dean’s sat in over the years while working cases. Dean licked his lips and looked to Emma. “What do you mean Gail came home?”

Emma shook her head and sighed. “It’s nothing… it’s just we thought after graduation that she would, y’know, go off into the world. Do something with her life. With her grades she could have done anything she wanted.”

_So why didn’t she?_ Dean shared a querying look with Sam.

“Emma,” Sam started, “did anything happen with Gail during or before college?”

“What does this have to do with… never… fine.”

Dean had not expected her to buckle this easily. He wondered where Mr Tweeny was.

“Gail… something happened in her last year high school and… maybe she never quite recovered from it. Hell, I’ve been wondering if my girl killed herself.”

“Do you know what happened?” Sam pressed.

Gaze averted, Emma stared out a set of french doors that looked upon the back yard. “A girl in her year died during Gail’s last year at high school… Elizabeth Lloyd. She killed herself...”

The three of them waited for Emma to continue.

“Electrocution. Damndest thing, you know? But obviously it stuck with my Gail, if… if it wasn’t some faulty hair dryer that killed her… Gail went to her funeral, stayed until the cremation was over.” Emma looked back at them.

_Great, no body,_ Dean thought glumly.

“Was Gail close to Elizabeth?” Cas asked in an even voice.

Emma nodded. “Best friends, as far as I could tell. Sleep overs, phone calls, texting… trips to the mall… they saw their first concert together.”

“Had anything important or out of the norm happened in your daughter’s life recently?” Dean asked.

Looking thoughtful, Emma stared up at the ceiling for a moment before levelling her gaze back at Dean, Sam and Cas. “There’d been a high school reunion, about a week before Gail died. She went to it.”

The picture Dean was building in his mind was that the ghost, likely to be that of Elizabeth Lloyd, had been roused to action by the reunion. It still didn’t quite explain how her ghost had managed to move between all nine victims, but it was possible.

“Mind if we take a look inside Gail’s room?” Dean asked.

“Sure.” Emma got up from her chair and led the three of them to Gail’s room. Inside it looked like a space that Gail had done little to change since her teen years and returning from college. There was a lot of pink, and old photos. Some boy band posters that Dean was trying not to scoff at too much.

Emma left them alone in Gail’s room, and so the three of them began to search. Dean looked around her desk and computer, Cas by the side of her bed, and Sam looked in her closet.

“Found something,” Sam announced, pulling away from a simple little black dress. Like the kind that a woman might wear to their high school reunion. “This piece of wire had been stuck through the dress label.”

Sam held up a piece of electrical wire, its white insulation discoloured with age and the wires inside looking dull.

“Who wants to bet that’s a piece of the wire that originally killed Elizabeth?” Dean asked.

He had no takers.

***

Don’t ask Castiel how he knew, but on the drive to the home of the second vehicle owner, Castiel knew that Sam wouldn’t be there. He could feel the unwanted certainty like a blade pressing between his ribs, both sharp and paralyzing at the same time. In that drive over, he should have been reassuring Dean, telling him that they would find Sam and that everything would be fine.

Instead Castiel stayed silent, unable to bring himself to say much of anything. He could feel Dean’s pain and rumbling panic, it was coming off of the human in waves. The longer they spent looking the harder it was for Dean to keep it together—it had been the same when the British Men of Letters had taken Sam.

Dean pulled the Impala up alongside a curb on the street with the final vehicle-owner to check. He parked several doors down. Without a word, the two of them got out of the car and wandered over to the single story home of one Stephen Harrow. There was a black sedan parked in the drive. Dean used an old clothes hanger to get the car open, and then Castiel went up to the car, leaving Dean to keep an eye out.

Angelic senses crawling over every molecule of the car, words stuttered in Castiel’s throat as he finally detected a trace of Sam. One of his hairs was in the trunk along with some skin cells and traces of sweat.

“What is it, Cas?” Dean asked anxiously.

“Sam was here.” Castiel snapped his attention to the one story house that the drive belonged to. He closed the trunk and walked to the front door. A part of him recognized the familiar movement of Dean getting his handgun out from his jeans.

The house looked deserted in the early morning light, but the rest of the street was starting to wake up. Dean shielded his gun between himself and Castiel as the two of them stood by the door. Castiel tilted his head as he stood in front of the door, listening for anyone who might be awake inside.

No sound was coming from inside the house, bar the usual noises of any empty home that is in use: electricity over wires; water shifting in pipes, and wooden frames creaking. Just normal, everyday house noises. Though there was a furnace in a basement, Castiel could hear it warming the home.

“There’s no one here… unless they’re warded against me.”

Dean huffed out a breath from somewhere near Castiel’s right ear. “Let’s try the back.”

The two of them discretely made their way to the rear of the property, Dean easily picking the gate that led to the backyard. Castiel was unsure what he had been expecting by going into the garden, but he was a little surprised to find that the garden was an overgrown jungle.

“Dammit, shoulda brought my machete,” Dean cursed, trying to make his way through vines and weeds that snarled their path.

“Per—” A dried out vine slapped against Castiel’s mouth, stopping him mid speech. He glared at the withered thing, but pushed past it and continued onwards.

After some minutes they reached the rear of the house and found a pair of slightly grimy looking French doors. Dean pulled out his lockpick and Castiel kept watch as Dean worked on opening the doors. Aside from the distant noises of the other street residents, morning birds and a cat that was lurking in the overgrown garden, Castiel sensed no other things nearby. He scanned the rear of house for any sign that there might be a basement or storm cellar, but he saw nothing apparent.

“There.” Dean pulled the doors open and stepped inside. Castiel followed closely behind, body tense and ready to strike whatever might lunge out at them.

They had entered a living room that had, much like the garden, seen better days. While Castiel was not normally perturbed by a lack of cleanliness, dirty dishes and soiled clothing littered the space. Letting his senses wander, Castiel searched for signs of Sam in the mess.

He found no sign of Sam in the living room and so Castiel quietly moved through the house, finding similar levels of clutter and mess, but finding nothing that indicated that Sam had been in the house. No sign of Sam could be found on the first floor or in the basement they eventually located. And there was no sign that Stephen had been in the house for the last few hours.

Stephen had not, it appeared, been in the house for several weeks. The mould cultures growing on some of the dishes were the main confirmation of this for Castiel. Returning to Dean’s side, Castiel waited for him to finish looking at a stack of mail that was months old.

“Sam was not brought into the house,” Castiel concluded.

“Great,” Dean grumbled. The hunter slammed the pile of mail in his hands down on an overcrowded table, making a used plate and knife teeter dangerously on the edge until they stopped shaking.

“Clearly Stephen has Sam. Perhaps… he transferred Sam to another vehicle and another location?” Castiel picked up the pile of mail that Dean discarded and started rifling through it. He tried to think about Sam’s disappearance like the younger Winchester might have done if Dean had been taken. “Or maybe he has stolen a vehicle?”

Dean rubbed at his face and turned on the spot, looking at their surroundings, despair clearly written on his face. “That doesn’t help, Cas.”

_No, it does._ “Look at this house. I would say that it is most definitely the home of a human being. Not a supernatural creature. And I would go one step further and say this person is not a hunter, nor affiliated with the British Men of Letters. There’s no weapons stashed here.” Castiel turned over the lessons he had learned watching true crime documentaries with Sam. When they watched those, Dean tended to make himself scarce or fall asleep.

“Go on…” Dean prompted.

Licking his lips, Castiel looked around the living room they had returned to. “The mail and recent mould growth suggests that something has been occupying Stephen’s time of late. I suspect it’s not a job or a new lover.”

“Why not a new lover?” Dean asked, surprise in his voice.

“Because there would always be the chance that a hook-up may happen here. And human mating rituals tend towards locations with far fewer risks of infection. Unless both parties are _wasted_ ,” Castiel explained, with air quotes on the “wasted”, “and then it wouldn’t matter. But other than the DNA of Stephen’s meals and the mould, and Stephen himself: no other humans have been here in some time.”

“Okay, I’m buying. Why Sam and more importantly: where the hell did Stephen take him?”

“Sam had recent crime files on his laptop, reports for the area. I think we should see if there are any unexplained deaths or missing persons cases in Augusta, from the last few months. Outside of the Elizabeth Lloyd case. We should see where the victims lived, where they were last seen, and where their bodies were found, so that… we can make a… a… geo… geo…” Castiel gave Dean a pleading look, unable to find the word he wanted. It was Sam after all who knew more about this kind of thing.

“You want us to make a geographic profile.” A small smile quirked Dean’s lips, the first one in hours. “Smart. You’re not just a pretty face, Cas.”

“And you obviously did watch some of those documentaries while pretending to be asleep,” Castiel said in an accusing voice.

“Okay, let’s head back to the motel, this place is obviously no more than a parking lot right now,” Dean said, dodging Castiel’s accusation.

They took their time leaving Stephen’s house, not wanting to draw any attention to themselves as people started leaving for work and school. Stephen’s home was left pretty much as they had found it.

Castiel hoped that Sam was still alive, though being abducted like he was, offered hope he would be. The angel suspected that if Sam’s death had been the main goal, the hunter would have been killed on the side of the road. 

This was not a comforting thought.


	4. Blood

Somewhere a refrigerator was ticking over, motor inside it humming quietly, and it was the only sound Sam could hear aside from his own breathing. Stephen had pulled Sam’s clothes back on before leaving thirty minutes ago. His abductor had given no indication of how long he would be, and for all Sam knew Stephen would be back any second.

The drugs that had been in Sam’s system felt like they were almost gone—his situation felt more real and present. Sam looked to the restraints on his wrists and the ones on his ankles, trying to see if there was a single weak point he could exploit. He strained his head, trying to see the headboard where the restraints on his wrists were connected, or as Sam could see: wound through the struts on the headboard. The chain on the cuffs was linked together. And with a wooden frame and…

 _Fuck, it’s pine_ , Sam realized, mind less foggy than it had been. With the bed frame made out of softwood, Sam’s chances of escape increased. He could pull on the chains and restraints that held his wrists, to slowly see-saw through the wood, or cause so much friction that the chain would snap or the wood of the bed. Sam started to pull his wrists back and forth, making the chain scrape against the wood.

Left-right, left-right, left-right—Sam repeated the motion over and over, shoulders burning with the effort. There was a woody metallic tang on the air as the heat between metal and pine increased. Sam kept an ear out for any sound of Stephen’s return as he worked. Sweat beaded Sam’s brow as his muscles bulged with the effort. He hadn’t eaten since the night before and he was using the last of his reserves.

How much time had passed, Sam was unsure. But suddenly it felt like his hands were reaching further down the bed and then—

“FUCK!” Sam shouted, hands suddenly slamming down into the mattress and making his whole body jerk. Neck jarred and feeling dizzy, Sam took a few deep breaths before sitting up. He reached down the bed and undid the cuffs around his ankles, and then he was off the bed and moving, legs shaking a little under him.

Finding his sneakers, Sam pulled them on and gripped the chains dangling from the cuffs on his wrists. He would have removed them, but the chains were the only other thing he could protect himself with. Quietly stepping out of the bedroom, Sam walked through the doorway and into a hallway. Quick peeks through other doors told him that he hadn’t been in the master room, though it had been in a better state than the other bedrooms.

Heart hammering his his chest, Sam swooped into the kitchen-slash-living room and saw what must have been the door out of the apartment. The space around him was sparsely furnished, though the refrigerator was real, as was the coffee maker he’d smelled working earlier. Wooden floorboards gently creaked under his feet and Sam kept his center of gravity pitched just so, ready to flee or attack as needed, light on his toes.

The front door was there, just ahead of him, he was almost out, and then the sound of a lock being used filled the room. Sam froze on the spot, eyes dashing around for anywhere he could hide his tall frame. With such little furniture in the kitchen and living room, there was nowhere really to hide. All Sam had was the element of surprise, so he swiftly stepped to the door, steps light as feather, and pulled back his right fist as he walked.

Stephen didn’t get a chance to react as Sam smashed a chain covered fist into his face. Bone crunched and Stephen dropped to the floor like a tonne of bricks, blood pouring from a broken nose. Sam didn’t give him a second thought as he stepped over the asshole’s body, _and that’s putting it lightly_.

Light poured in from skylights above the landing. Sam spun around and found the nearest staircase. The wood looked good enough, safe, so Sam started powering down the stairs, taking two at a time. He was seven floors up and his lungs were burning as he raced to the first floor. Finally, the main entrance was in sight, and Sam raced for it.

PFUMPT! Sam’s ankle snagged against a wire and a net shot out from his right, smacking into him and dragging him down to the floor. Fear flooded through Sam, but he stuffed it down and pulled at the reinforced netting that surrounded him. He was trained to get out of situations like this, but his training fled him as Stephen’s boots came into view.

With only instinct to warn him, Sam quickly curled up into as small a ball as possible, which wasn’t very small, and then Stephen’s booted right foot connected with Sam’s stomach. Wind knocked out of him, Sam kept silent as Stephen’s boot slammed into him again and again.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Sam.” Stephen kicked Sam. “Shouldn’t have.” Kick. “I thought you understood you needed to be a good boy.” Kick. “I don’t wanna punish you Sam.” Kick. “Never want to punish you.” Kick. “But you gotta learn, Sam. Gotta Learn.” Kick. Kick. Kick.

He tried praying to Cas again, hoping that the angel might hear him. _Castiel… fuck. Some guy’s got me somewhere. Old apartment block, abandoned... Please, Cas… Dean and you need to hurry. He’s going to kill me._

Tears pricked at Sam’s eyes, but he didn’t shed a single one. He couldn’t assess the damage being done to him, he couldn’t be present enough as Stephen continued to shout at him.

“I thought you’d be different, Sam.” Kick. “Maybe you are, but I’m,” kick, “disappointed.” The onslaught stopped and Stephen knelt down beside Sam’s face. “But I like you, Sam. So I’m going to give you another chance. We’ll make this work. You’re too perfect to just be let go. You’ll learn to love me, like I love you.”

Stephen’s words sliced into Sam as consciousness was pulled out from under Sam’s feet and he fell into blackness.

***

_Three days earlier…_

Cas and Sam vetoed Dean’s suggestion of sneaking into the high school once everyone was gone for the day in order to scope the place out. The two of them argued that they had their FBI cover and there was no point in jeopardizing that on the off chance they would end up burning down part of a school. At least if they were under the guise as feds, they’d be able to convince local emergency services that what happened according to how they said it had.

And it wasn’t like Dean was itching to set things on fire, but he didn’t like the idea of getting close to the source of a ghost with so many civilians around. The principal was leading them down into the basement where Elizabeth had supposedly killed herself, trying to remain polite while pointing out that he had a PTA meeting to head.

“I don’t quite understand what the basement of this corner of the school has to do with the recent deaths?” Principal Hodges pointed out, glasses slipping past the bridge of his nose. His forehead shone from the brisk pace the three of them were forcing him to keep to.

Sam huffed out a breath. “We’re not entirely sure either, Principal Hodges, but we have reason to believe that all of the victims met in vicinity to this basement prior to their deaths—”

“I still don’t see what this has to do with—”

“How long have you been principal here, Mister Hodges?” Dean interjected.

“Five years give or take—”

“Well this may be related to events prior to your employment here.” Dean coughed. “We can’t really say for certain yet.”

“And we’re still working another angle that this is all due to faulty hairdryers,” Cas added, trying to help. Dean’s lips quirked slightly into a smile at that, Cas still wasn’t great at playing fake federal agent, but he was learning.

“Oh… Okay.” Principal Hodges came to a stop outside a set of closed double fire doors. He pulled out a set of keys and unlocked the doors. “Well this is the section of basement, um… Don’t forget to sign out at reception when you leave. Uh, happy hunting?”

Dean turned to the principal and gave him a warm, professional smile. “Sure thing. Hopefully it’s nothing.”

Hodges nodded, turned on his heel and almost jogged away from them. They waited until the principal had turned a corner and then turned their attention to the door. Dean was surprised by how fast the man could move, considering how out of shape he seemed to be walking them there. And then he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“Anyone else feeling that?” Dean asked, reaching for the tire iron he’d concealed inside his long fed-like jacket. He flicked on a flashlight in his left hand.

Sam and Cas both nodded, Sam reaching for his shotgun that he’d hidden in his jacket, and Cas his own tire iron. Along with his shotgun, Sam also drew out a flashlight and turned it on. At least as feds they hadn’t had to go through the school’s metal detectors. Dean put a hand on the right side door and nodded to Sam, who got ready to head in first, shotgun cocked. Cas stood behind Sam to cover him and then nodded to Dean. Silently counting to three, head nodding with each count, Dean pushed the door open and Sam filed in, followed by Cas and then Dean.

They didn’t barge in, the three of them swept in like a well co-ordinated unit. Footsteps silent and swift, dust clouds rose up into the air as they sweeped in. Nothing about the basement looked out of place. There were pipes above head level, going through to all parts of the school, and the main trip system for that section of the building. There was a lot of wiring heading through the dark musty space, and an abandoned toolbox in the middle of the floor.

Without a word, the three of them split up. Dean scanned one wall with his flashlight, looking for anything that might have resembled the wiring they’d already found. He looked at the power conduits with the eyes of someone who’d worked construction more than a few times, so when he noticed a section that had casing that looked older than the rest, he got a feeling that he was near the source of all this death.

Flashlight following the casing, Dean tried to keep his awareness of his surroundings as he followed it closer to the fuses for the building section. The casing on the wall was cracked open six foot ahead of him, and he could see copper wiring glinting under the light from his flashlight. Without warning, the temperature dropped more than ten degrees. Dean only had a second to react. Instinct made Dean pivot and swing the tire iron through the ghostly form of Elizabeth as she appeared beside him.

“Dean!” Sam shouted, coming up beside him.

“I’m fine. Cas?”

“Here,” Cas announced standing the opposite side of Dean to Sam. Sam was on Dean’s right and Sam on his left, all three of them had their weapons poised, ready to strike.

Elizabeth didn’t show herself as the three of them waited by the wall. No way could they justify burning down an entire school for one ghost. It wasn’t like Dean was particularly fond of schools, but he had more than inkling of how such an act would screw over the entire community.

Eyes scanning the space in front of them, light dancing, Dean considered their limited options. _Wait, the wire isn’t part of the current wiring..._

“So, who wants the bad news?” Dean asked.

A sudden shimmer of white had Sam firing his shotgun, making their ears ring. Elizabeth disappeared in a flash of rocksalt.

“Go on,” Sam shouted.

“Bad news is we can’t burn down the school.” Dean twisted his head to the right, thinking he’d seen Elizabeth, but it was a trick of the light.

“So… what’s the good news?” Cas asked, voice taking on that tone it got when Cas wasn’t sure if he was using a phrase correctly. Dean ignored the flip his stomach made at him thinking how cute it was when Cas did that.

“The good news? The good news is this wiring isn’t been used by anything currently, and it’s near its original fuse box.” Dean twisted his head to look at the other end of the old wiring, where it would have gone on into the school. “We just gotta rip out the old wiring and fuse box, take it away from the school and, y’know, do the usual.”

“Oh, is that all,” Sam snarked. But Dean knew Sam understood it was their best course of action.

“As I’ve worked construction more than either of you, I’ll start on the wiring, you two cover me.” Dean cracked his neck, eyes falling on the tool box. “I’m gonna grab that tool box, see if there’s anything we can use.”

“Right.” Sam kicked off the wall first, covering Dean along with Cas, as the three of them walked to the box. Reaching the box, Dean shoved the lid open and started hunting through the implements inside. He wanted wire cutters and a pair of workman’s gloves.

Cas huffed as he swung his tire iron and Dean could only guess that Elizabeth had tried to sneak up on them. “Dean…” Cas warned.

“Gimme a sec… A-ha!” Dean pulled a pair of small wire cutters out of the case and a pair of old gloves, the material cracking slightly. It was better than nothing and Dean didn’t want to cut his hands up trying to pull out wire. “Cas, grab that hammer.”

“Which hammer?”

“That one.” Dean pointed.

Cas ducked down and grabbed it, coming back up and giving Dean a quizzical look. Dean didn’t give any explanation—he just turned around to face the old fuse box the cable cover led to.

“Alright, cover me,” Dean ordered, stepping towards the broken cable cover and then following it towards the bank of old fuses it led to, Sam and Cas followed beside him. The fuse box was on a wall. “Hammer.”

Cas passed the hammer and Dean put his flashlight between his teeth. The fuse box was starting to rust with age, its once teal paint flaking off. Dean prised the fuse box open using the back of the hammer and checked the wiring. It didn’t look live, but he wasn’t a hundred percent sure.

Dean juggled the hammer and his flashlight into his left hand. “Yo, Cas… is this thing live?”

Quickly turning to look over his shoulder, Cas frowned in confusion and asked, “Live?”

“There still power running through this thing?”

Cas closed his eyes for several seconds and then opened them. “There is no electricity present in the box.”

“Great stuff.” Shifting his tools and weapon, Dean pulled on the workman’s gloves, trying not to think about the sweat that must have soaked into them to make them as stiff as they were.

“Cas!” Sam shouted. There was a woosh of air as Cas swung his tire iron.

With no time to waste, Dean started to prise the fuse box from the wall. Nothing else was connected to it, bar the wiring that they suspected was being used by Elizabeth. The fuse box came off in a cloud of brick dust and Dean dodged it falling on his foot. With the fuse box off the wall, Dean started to pull at the wiring leading from it towards the casing that housed it along the wall. The wire, most of it still covered in moulder insulation, pulled through the casing easily enough.

“Dean, duck!” Sam shouted and Dean didn’t need to be told twice. A rocksalt round flew over his head and Dean stood up. Sam was jamming fresh cartridges into his shotgun as Dean finished pulling the wire through.

He shone the light through the casing that continued onwards, but the wiring was gone from there. _Cable was probably exposed when it was used on Elizabeth,_ Dean glumly thought to himself.

“Okay, we got everything. I can grab the fuse box and the cable, but you guys need to keep me covered.” Dean wound the wire around his left arm and hefted up the fuse box into both. The hammer was on the floor forgotten, and his flashlight was back in his pocket. He had his tire iron in his right hand, not that he’d be able to swing it without dropping the fuse box.

“Where to?” Sam asked.

“Track/field? Football pitch?” Dean’s gaze swept around the basement. There was no sign of Elizabeth.

“Right, somewhere big and open… Okay, I’ll take point.” Sam stood in front of Dean and Cas shifted behind him. Adrenaline in his blood almost at a peak, Dean easily followed Sam as they marched out of the basement. They tried to keep their pace normal as they made their way outside, but they got a few looks from students and staff who’d stuck around after classes.

But no one stopped them. Probably because they looked like three deranged FBI agents. Breaking out into fresh air, Dean breathed deep as Sam steered them towards what looked like the a sand pit used for field athletics events. They dumped the fusebox and the wire into the sand.

Feeling for salt and lighter fluid in his jacket pocket, Dean knew he’d come prepared, but he couldn’t find what he needed. He shoved his hand in a pocket he hadn’t investigated and then Cas was sent flying across the field, landing twenty feet away. _Shit, shit, shit…_

Elizabeth appeared in front of Dean and waved her hand, sending Dean flying just as his hand closed around a salt shaker. Sprawled across the grass, Dean tried to get his bearings, and then Elizabeth was on top of him, psychic pressure pushing him down as she stuck out her tongue, bending towards his forehead.

Rocksalt fired over Dean. “Get off him!” Sam yelled, shotgun nozzle glowing hot above Dean’s face. Not waiting for more, Dean scrambled up to his feet and jogged to where he’d dumped everything to do with Elizabeth. He found the salt and lighter fluid, Cas and Sam surrounding him.

Shaking the salt over the old wiring and fuse box, Dean kept checking his peripheral for sign of Elizabeth. With no sign of the ghost, Dean quickly poured lighter fluid over the aging kit and then Cas handed him a book of matches. Striking one match, Dean lit the box and threw it into the possessed items.

Skin pale and translucent, hair blowing in an imaginary wind, Elizabeth advanced on them again, hands outstretched and mouth open in a silent scream. For the first time, Dean noticed how her hair was matted together and there was a dark circle around her mouth.

 _Yeah, humans can be cruel_ , Dean thought, mind dwelling on how Elizabeth likely died, stomach churning as he watched the flames finally start to lick up the box and wiring. Elizabeth’s eyes went wide in a brief moment of understanding flickered through them and then she was gone in a cloud of orange tinged ash.

Sam slapped Dean on the back. “Now… we just need to make sure there’s no more of that cable left with anyone else.”

***

The motel room had acquired that odor of closely working bodies that haven’t washed in some time. While Cas could use a small amount of his grace to keep himself pristine, he tried not to, opting for showers most days. But working on the geographic profile of Stephen Harrow kept them both occupied. Though it was Castiel who reminded Dean to eat and drink.

He couldn’t persuade the older Winchester to sleep. Not while they checked over the information they had on a series of deaths that the local police hadn’t linked. It was their third time going through the files on Kitty Simmons, Yuliya Reynolds and David Green. They had a detailed map of Augusta stuck up on a free wall and were just trying to place where David had been found.

Castiel couldn’t say he enjoyed looking into the patterns of what looked suspiciously like a serial killer. While he was aware of Sam’s interests in true crime and serial killers, and had watched TV shows and documentaries about them, Castiel had been unable to figure out why Sam found them so fascinating. He decided he would ask Sam once they had found him.

“Okay, so the report says David’s body was dumped, post-mortem, at,” Dean plucked his finger down on the map, pointing at a parking lot, “the back of Gene’s Thrift Store, in the lot.”

Picking up a red marker, Castiel placed a cross where Dean had pointed. Stepping back from the map, Castiel looked between the dots. He looked between the dot behind the diner where Kitty had been found; the dot in the junkyard where Yuliya had been found, and then David’s dot. He picked up a different pen, and with complete precision, drew a perfect circle containing the scenes where the bodies had been found.

The area was nowhere near Stephen’s home. Castiel tilted his head and said thoughtfully, “His killspace is likely somewhere within that circle.”

Dean nodded and stepped forward. He seemed remarkably calm as he took another marker to the map, but Castiel could see his lover’s hand slightly shaking as he drew a series of different dots. “These are the last places where Yuliya, Kitty and David were seen,” Dean explained, “this is where Sam was taken from.” Dean marked the section of road they’d found Sam’s phone. “And… this is Stephen’s house.” Dean left a final mark.

The two of them stood back from the map, and then Castiel went up to it again and drew another perfect circle around the abduction sites. It crossed over with the edge of the dump sites. Stephen’s home was to the edge of the abduction sites in the first circle, but there was that overlay between the two circles.

“His base of operations is likely in that—” Castiel started and then stopped. It had been some time since anyone had prayed to him, but he could faintly hear Sam’s voice inside his own head. _Castiel… Old apartment block, abandoned… going to kill me._

Tilting forward, Castiel slammed down onto his knees, blinking his eyes in pain at how fiercely determined the prayer had been. Dean was down beside him in an instant, concerned hands on Castiel, checking him over.

“Cas, are you alright?!” Dean yelled, hands cradling Castiel’s head.

Blinking away the last of the pain, Castiel grunted. “Yes… I heard a prayer from Sam… He’s in some old apartment building.”

“You good?” Dean checked, hands still on Castiel.

“Yes,” Castiel replied. Dean nodded and then stood up again. He went back to the map and pulled out his cellphone, checking Google Street View around where the sections intersected.

Dean stabbed at the map in triumph. “Here!” He helped Castiel to his feet and then shoved his cell in Castiel’s hands. “Only abandoned looking apartment building in the whole goddamn place.”

“We need to go there now.” Castiel ignored the pain slowly winding down inside his skull and grabbed his angel blade. “Sam doesn’t have long.”

No extraneous words spilled from Dean’s lips. Instead, a calm deadly silence settled over the hunter. He grabbed his gun, and a shotgun from a duffel, and then stormed out of the room. Castiel grabbed the room keys and locked up, hurrying after Dean. The Impala engine was already running as he approached the car.

Castiel got into the Impala and then Dean put his foot down. They shot out of the parking lot like a bullet.

If there were speed restrictions along these roads, Castiel didn’t spot any. They were moving too fast to pick out any detail of their surroundings. He gripped onto the side of the door as Dean drove, ass sliding along the leather. While Castiel did normally feel bad about killing humans, he wasn’t so sure now as he looked at the shotgun Dean had resting on the seat between them. But he also knew that human justice wouldn’t be possible, because then the Winchesters’ cover would be blown. It wasn’t as if they could act as witnesses on the trial. There was no other DNA found on the victims… _I don’t like this_ , Castiel admitted to himself. He was always obliging to kill monsters that threatened human lives, but humans?

“Dean, we should leave Stephen for the authorities to handle.”

Dean grunted in reply. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

“Dean—”

“If, and only if, that monster doesn’t give us a good reason to put him down like he should be, then we’ll leave him alive enough for the authorities. But if that bastard makes one wrong move, Cas, I am going to blow his fucking brains out!” Dean seethed, eyes on the road.

It took them less than twenty minutes to reach the building where they thought Sam was likely being held. There was a car in the building’s lot that Castiel could sense Sam had been in. The building itself looked like a relic from the fifties, though it may have been nice to live in at some point. Most of the windows were boarded up, so it was unlikely anyone still lived there.

Dean led Castiel, shotgun in hand, having changed the salt rounds for real shells. They entered into the main foyer, noting that the stairs looked stable enough to ascend.

Sam’s blood was on the faded polished floorboards.


	5. Lucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Sam is penetrated without consent in this chapter.

Leaving for college had been the hardest thing Sam Winchester had ever done. Harder than saying yes to Lucifer. Harder than saying no to his addiction. Harder than giving up on closing the gates of Hell.

That night he left haunts Sam in ways that so many other events in his life fail to. But at the time it had felt like the right decision, to head off and leave Dean behind. So that Dean wouldn’t be contaminated with his sickness. Sam had been sure that his more-than-brotherly interest in Dean would never be reciprocated. Those assumptions had gone out the window when Dean had kissed him breathless in Bobby’s salvage yard, after Dean had just finished re-wrecking the Impala with a crowbar.

And the night Castiel finally came to them in Rufus’s cabin, out of his mind, but so very sure about one thing: that Dean and Sam were it for him—it had almost broken Sam’s heart. Broken it more when Cas and Dean had been sucked into God knew where. Despite all the pain the three of them had put each other through, they came back together again and again.

Tied down to Stephen’s bed yet again, Sam kept reminding himself that Dean and Cas were worth living for. His chest was on fire, from his arms being strung above his head with rope, as well as the kicks that he’d taken. Stephen was below his waist, muttering incomprehensible words, hands running over Sam’s body. He’d stripped Sam during the brief time he’d been unconscious, but when Sam had woken up, he hadn’t been drugged like before.

Sam couldn’t decide if he wanted the drugs or not. At least he wouldn’t have been as aware of the pain in his body, or the way Stephen greedily coveted him with each press of his hands. His eyes were too swollen from tears and violence for him to see what Stephen was doing, but when he felt a wet firm finger press against his asshole he knew what was happening to him.

“N-no,” Sam whispered, throat too swollen to talk normally.

Stephen ignored his protests and kissed Sam’s thighs in a mockery of intimacy. Weakly—body feeling broken in ways that it hadn’t felt in a long time—Sam tried to move his legs and lash out, but his strength had fled him. It was like a week old puppy trying to paw away a hungry lion.

A strong sure hand held Sam’s leg and he trembled, not wanting to a part of any of this. Inside his head was a constant chant of, _No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…_ that sometimes bubbled up enough to get past his lips, but Stephen ignored all of his cries.

He needed to live, but Sam was starting to believe that he would die in that place, and that Stephen would do with him what he had done with all of his other victims. Leave his abused body in some back alley for some poor person so find. Sam wanted to have faith in Dean and Cas, but as each ragged breath he took pierced his body with pain, Sam didn’t think they would find him in time.

The bed creaked ominously and Sam whimpered as his abused body was shifted into position for the main event, bed grating under him. Stephen quietly muttered something that Sam couldn’t understand. Sam was sure that whatever prep Stephen had done wouldn’t be enough and his muscles tensed as they awaited Stephen to take his final tithe. But the expected press of Stephen’s length didn’t come.

BANG! The bed shifted again and Sam tried to hear what was going on, but the shotgun blast had deafened him. Callused hands suddenly cradled his face and Sam let out a cry, until a finger pressed to the inside of his arm and spelt the name “Dean”.

Sam caught a whiff of Dean’s familiar musk, all leather and gunsmoke, and then Sam crumbled. Sobs wracked his body as caring, loving, hands worked to remove his bonds. Slowly his hearing returned and Sam started to pick out what Dean and Cas were saying.

“Cas, can you take care of the body or not?” Dean asked as he ran his hands all over Sam. Almost every touch found some wound or injury, making Sam gasp and cry out. He still couldn’t see through the swelling of his eyes. “Ssssh, Sam. It’s gonna be fine. We’ll get you fixed up—”

“His injuries are too great for me to fix,” Cas chimed in.

“I’ll take him to an emergency room! Can you take care of the body or not?!”

“Yes. Dean—”

“Cas, I’m sorry, but…”

“Go, Dean. I’ll come to you.”

A blanket was wrapped around Sam and then he felt himself hoisted up into the air in a bridal carry. Distantly he wondered how Dean was managing to carry his weight, but Sam mostly tried to allow himself to feel relief. It was hard to feel safe, but being clutched by Dean went some of the way to making Sam feel a sliver of comfort. All the while, his body screamed at him.

“Shit,” Dean swore as he reached the first floor, but Sam didn’t know why. “It’s okay, Sammy. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Sam didn’t know why Dean kept repeating those words, but he was finding it hard to feel warm. Everything felt cold and Sam felt the familiar fingers of death trying to get a hold on him. He didn’t want to be dragged down. The world shifted and a car door thudded, and the world moved.

Words tumbled from Dean’s lips, but Sam couldn’t hear most of them as he struggled to stay awake. It was getting harder and harder to fight the cold as the Impala rumbled around him. Sam was in and out of consciousness.

“I need some help here!”

“Get him on here… What happened?”

“Found him like this…”

Sam felt like he was in a needle-filled bubble, the world around him far away, but the pain in his body a constant presence. But the pain meant he was still alive and so Sam held onto it best he could.

For a second the world stopped moving, and a hand stroked his. “I love you, Sam. You’re gonna make it. Sammy. Stay with me.”

***

_Three days earlier…_

“That’s the last of it,” Dean proclaimed. An inch of wiring was burning in an old trash can lid. There had been no sign of Elizabeth, they likely had ended her at the school, but Dean didn’t like leaving jobs half done.

Having managed to not raise too much suspicion in Augusta, the three of them decided to stick around for another night. They changed back into their usual clothes—well, Dean and Sam did—back at the motel. Heading out to a local bar seemed like a good idea, so that’s what they did.

Dean didn’t catch the name of the place as they headed in, but he smelled greasy bar food and beer, so he figured he didn’t need to know. A bunch of locals were making use of the pool table, some were watching a football game on a TV above the bar and others were just sat around drinking and eating. It felt normal in a way that Dean envied and enjoyed. Envied, because of course none of the people relaxing there knew that a homicidal ghost had been stalking their town. Enjoyed, because it meant he would get a chance to play at being normal for a while.

A hand brushed across his ass and Dean blushed. So normal depended on your point of view, if the hungry look Cas gave Dean to go with that caress was anything to go by, followed by the way Sam managed to sneakily give his cheek a peck. Whether anyone there noticed this quick exchange of affection, Dean was unsure, but the barman who greeted them seemed unfazed.

They ordered beers and hot dogs all around and headed for a secluded booth. It was a little crowded being sat between Cas and Sam, but Dean liked the proximity—feeling them pressed against him was a reminder that they’d made it through another hunt.

Once they had food and booze, Dean relaxed into his seat and enjoyed having Sam and Castiel’s hands wander across his thighs. He didn’t expect them to spend too long there, especially when, having finished his chili, he made out with Sam while Cas stroked Dean through his jeans. They were eager to move onto more, but as Sam withdrew for breath, Dean couldn’t help feeling they were being watched.

“Dean?” Sam asked in a whisper.

A quick glance around what he could see of the bar revealed nothing to Dean. “It’s nothing Sammy, c’mon let’s go.”

Tab settled, the three of them left the bar, grabbed some beers from a store and went back to the motel room. There was no huge drive to head back to the Bunker, but Dean couldn’t blame them for not wanting to go back. Since Toni had grabbed Sam, the place hadn’t felt safe anymore.

“We’ll look for a new case tomorrow,” Sam promised as they parked in the lot outside their room.

But that was the last of the business talk as the three of them piled into the room, put the beers in the refrigerator and then met in the center of the room and started touching and kissing. Cas was the one who pushed for everyone to get naked.

“Too many clothes,” he repeated over and over. Dean and Sam were eager to agree. When they were finally naked, Cas pulled everyone down onto the queen furthest from the door.

“Where do you want me?” Sam asked as Dean pushed Sam’s hips down and Cas sucked on Sam’s neck. Sam was spread out on his back under them.

Dean kissed the insides of Sam’s thighs. “You on my cock while Cas fucks your face.”

“Do it,” Sam panted out.

So Dean dug the lube out of his duffel. He slicked two fingers up straight away, because he knew Sam really enjoyed the burn, and started to ease them inside of his brother. Sam moaned, but not for long, because Cas shoved his cock in Sam’s mouth. There was no ignoring the greedy way Sam’s body begged for more as Dean fingered him open and Cas used him. Dean loved how eager Sam would get for the two of them to use him.

“Eager little cock slut, huh?” Dean panted, fisting himself with his left hand while his right fingers worked on Sam. “What do you think, Cas?”

“Mmm, Sam does only seem to be happy when he’s stuffed full.”

That got them Sam shuddering between them, hips bucking as Dean drove to get more of his fingers inside of Sam. Dean let Sam fuck himself on his fingers. He was a sight to behold, sweating and pink, body quivering as he chased pleasure—Dean would never tire of seeing Sam like this.

“Think this cock slut’s ready for more?” Dean purred, fingers curving over Sam’s prostate. Cas moaned low at that as Sam hummed appreciatively around Castiel’s cock. Precome dripped from Sam’s tip.

“He’s ready,” Cas bit out as he used Sam’s mouth.

Dean pulled his fingers from Sam, slicked up his cock and then started to press into Sam. There was a little resistance at first, but Dean took his time, despite the way Sam kept trying to scoot his ass down onto Dean’s cock. He wished he had Castiel’s angelic endurance, because as he finally pushed past the last ring of resistance and bottomed out, Dean was assaulted by Sam’s tight, hot, perfect ass.

“Fuck, you’re perfect, Sam. Fucking… made for us,” Dean gasped, holding back against the need to fuck into Sam. He waited for Sam to adjust, which had his brother whimpering around Castiel’s cock and then Dean finally started to ease out of Sam and then slide back in.

“Dean,” Cas panted. _Oh, maybe the angel has reached his limit_ , Dean thought to himself, recognizing what that tone meant.

“Go on, Cas, show Sammy how much you need him,” Dean returned, hips speeding up. He fisted Sam’s cock, matching his hand with his hips as he fucked Sam. It felt good to break Sam apart like this, make him quiver in pleasure as his body was stretched around two cocks. Dean knew how much Sam’s jaw was probably aching by now. He knew was it was like to eat Castiel’s cock.

“SAM!” Castiel shouted, hips stuttering as he filled Sam’s mouth.

Watching Cas come, seeing the angel so primal and desperate made Dean piston into Sam faster. His own orgasm was building and he watched in hunger as Cas pulled shifted his hips away from Sam’s face, and went in to kiss his release from Sam’s mouth. It was messy and wet, making Sam make the sweetest worked up noises. Dean shifted his hand faster, twisting a little more on the head of Sam’s weeping cock, and then tilted his hips a little differently. Driving deeper.

That was all Sam could take as he shouted into Castiel’s mouth, thick come splattering across Sam’s stomach, Castiel’s back and Dean’s hand. And that was all Dean could handle as he followed Sam to orgasm.

“FUCK!” Dean shouted as he half collapsed on Sam.

It was Cas who cleaned them up with wash cloths and got them comfortable on the bed. But as sleep finally claimed him, he couldn’t help feeling that maybe they were being watched. His sleep that night was never more than a doze.

***

“Coming through!” yelled a doctor as he and a nurse maneuvered a pregnant woman on a gurney.

Castiel flattened himself against the hallway wall.

“It’s too soon!” the woman gasped as the three of them powered on.

Their voices were lost to Castiel as he gently spread his awareness to try and find Sam and Dean. Dean had sent Castiel a text message that he had taken Sam to the Kansas Medical Center in Andover. People kept looking at Castiel strangely as he walked through the hospital, trying to find them. Dean had checked in Sam under an alias, one that had health insurance.

Worried by what people’s looks may mean, Castiel stopped and headed into a men’s restroom to see what was unnerving people. Standing in front of a mirror over the sinks, Castiel saw blood and chunks of brain smeared over his clothes. The remains of Stephen. His body would never be found—Castiel had made sure of that, using Enochian magic to obliterate the remains, rather than relying on just gas, salt and kindling. He’d used salt, but just so that there was no risk of Stephen returning from the dead.

Castiel had had his fill of ghosts for the time being. He looked around for something that might help clean him up better than just water. If this had been before Metatron, Castiel would have just used his grace to clean his clothing, but he couldn’t waste grace on something as fanciful as cleaning his own clothes.

Recalling that human surgeons had rooms that they cleaned up in before and after cutting people open, Castiel headed back out of the restroom to look for one of those. A few minutes later, after deciding such rooms would be near operating rooms, Castiel went into an empty room to wash the gore from his clothes.

The stains were not coming out with the soap there, though his skin was much cleaner. He looked at his dress slacks, tie, shoes and coat. Realizing that he could not save his clothes himself, Castiel found a plastic bag and bundled everything into it, hoping that Dean might be able to get the stains out once they were back home.

Walking around naked, Castiel found some clean scrubs and unattended rubbery mules that fit his feet. He slipped into everything, disconcerted at how loose it felt. Castiel picked up his bag of trashed clothes and headed out, continuing his search for Dean and Sam. And then he caught a hint of Dean’s musk on the air.

Castiel followed his nose and eventually found Dean in a waiting room. Dean jumped out of his seat, looking up at Castiel, clearly expecting someone else and then seemed to realize who it was.

Without a word, Dean stepped into Castiel’s space, making Castiel drop the bag, and buried his face in the crook of Castiel’s neck. Words were mumbled by Dean into Castiel’s side and he heard “Sam” and “in surgery”, but not much else.

Holding Dean tightly with his right arm, Castiel used his left hand to gently stroke Dean’s back. The touches were meant to soothe and relieve, and Castiel could feel Dean calming a little under his ministrations.

For some time the two of them remained stood in the middle of the waiting area, the only ones there. Distantly Castiel was aware of the rest of the hospital, but he focused his attention on Dean. He was too scared to use his limited preternatural senses to search out Sam and find out how he was doing.

Dean’s tears soaked Castiel’s green top. Castiel couldn’t remember the last time Dean had cried this freely. It had been a hard twenty-four hours for both of them, harder still for Sam, but Castiel decided to have hope, because one of them had to. He cradled Dean in his arms and whispered songs from when he had been a nestling, unable to fly. Slowly, Dean calmed enough to be led to a seat and sit down without falling.

It was strange waiting in that empty room for news of Sam. After the mad rush to find Sam, the sudden stillness and quiet felt wrong. Dean rested his head on Castiel’s left shoulder as he sat beside him, right hand entwined with Castiel’s left.

Time slowed for Castiel and dragged slowly as he sat. He wished that he had his full grace. _I could have healed Sam_ , Castiel thought mournfully as he listened for any sign of someone coming to tell them the news. He wouldn’t have been able to find Sam as easily, Castiel admitted to himself, because of the markings on Sam’s ribs—but maybe he could have flown over Augusta and found Sam that way. Castiel let out a sigh, realizing his regret was pointless.

Dean started to snore on Castiel’s shoulder, having fallen asleep. His hand was lax in Castiel’s and Castiel contemplated how both humans were getting older. It was strange to think that it was another human who had put Sam in hospital and not one of the many literal monsters that they hunted. He wondered if there would ever come a time that both men would finally decide that they were done running around the country, and instead would do something a few steps removed.

Castiel thought of Bobby and the valuable service he had once provided the hunting community. A service that came with no strings attached, unlike what he had heard of the British Men of Letters. But first they had to save the world from whatever bun Kelly had in her oven. Castiel was just glad that Lucifer was back in Hell.

“Dean Wayne?” a man called from the doorway to the waiting room.

Dean snapped awake beside Castiel and got up from his seat. “That’s me. What’s the news? How’s Sam doing?”

The man eyed Castiel with a raised eyebrow, taking in how they were wearing the same color of scrubs. Thankfully the man didn’t say anything.

“You can talk in front of Cas.”

The man nodded. “Sam’s out of surgery. He sustained a lot of injuries. Broken right tibia bone, fractured left collarbone. Broken ribs… as we suspected before taking him to surgery. Mister Wayne, we had to remove your brother’s spleen. It was massively damaged in the attack.”

Dean winced and Castiel rested a hand on his back. “Thank you, Doctor…” Dean started

“Doctor Martin. Your brother is in recovery for now. Your insurance will be able to provide him with crutches and a wheelchair, but he’s going to take a few months to recover. Is your home accessible?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah most of it is on the same level.”

“Good. Well a nurse will come for you once he’s woken up in recovery. Your brother is lucky you found him.”

“Yeah. Lucky.”


	6. Together

“I know you’re awake.”

Sam’s eyes jerked open and his breathing sped up. But he wasn’t in Stephen’s bed, instead he was in a hospital room, with Dean standing beside his bed. Sam’s limbs felt heavy and tied down and Sam started to panic. A machine started to beep louder and louder.

He needed to get out. Run. Needed—

“Hey, Sammy, calm down. You’re safe. You’re safe!” Dean tried to reassure, but it wasn’t until a doctor gave Sam a sedative that he started to calm down.

Floating, Sam listened to Dean and Cas talking, but he didn’t quite understand what they were saying. The world around him was far away and Sam wasn’t sure how to interact with it.

“Once he’s stable, we’ll take him back to the Bunker,” Dean said. Or at least Sam was guessing it was Dean. He wasn’t sure if Stephen had shot him up with something else and he was imagining the whole thing. His eyes were heavy and he couldn’t really move his arms much, though he felt no cuffs on his wrists.

Sam drifted in and out of awareness, unsure how much time had passed. A sharp pain in his leg finally brought him back to reality, dragging him awake. The pain made his chest tight and he whimpered, looking around the low light of the hospital room. Dean was asleep in a chair, but Castiel was standing vigil.

“Sam,” Cas whispered, coming to Sam’s side. The angel picked up Sam’s right hand and gently held it. “You’re in pain.”

“C-Cas,” Sam croaked and weakly gripped Castiel’s hand, finally noticing the IV drip that had been put in further up his right arm. There was no strength left in him, he felt so weak. He’d probably felt better after being shot by a werewolf in Idaho the previous year.

Dean slept on beside him, over a day’s growth on his face. Sam looked to Cas for explanation. Everything from when he’d gotten to the bottom of the stairs seemed so fuzzy, he wasn’t sure what had happened.

“You sustained a lot of injuries,” Cas explained. He bent over Sam’s hand and gently kissed the top of it. The loving, familiar gesture reassured Sam. Castiel straightened and continued, “Your spleen had to be removed. You have broken ribs. Your left collar bone has been fractured, your right tibia is broken.”

 _No wonder I’m feeling like crap._ Sam lowered his gaze to look at his left side and finally saw his left arm strapped so his fist was below his jaw. “Are spleens... important?” Sam asked in a raspy voice, throat dry and hurting. His brain was too jumbled to remember AP biology.

Cas seemed to sense Sam’s discomfort, because he moved quickly and poured Sam a cup of water from a jug on a table. Adding a straw to the cup, he brought to Sam and held it for him. Sam sucked on the straw, taking tiny sips of water.

“You can survive without your spleen… though I advise staying far away from any serious disease outbreaks or unvaccinated children.” Cas leaned in and brushed some of Sam’s hair away from his eyes.

“Next time we catch a case at a kindergarden, you can stay in the car,” Dean greeted sleepily from his chair.

Sam slowly turned his head to look at his brother. “Hey… jerk.”

“Hey, bitch.”

Pain flared along Sam’s nerve endings and he winced. Dean seemed to notice this and he passed a control panel over to him.

“Morphine,” Dean explained.

Without a word, Sam pressed the plus button a few times. A second later he felt his awareness drift a little as the drug started to work, numbing the pain.

“When… can we… go?” Sam asked, voice feeling far away as the morphine worked.

“When you don’t need that stuff,” Dean said. His big brother rubbed at his eyes and gave Sam a tired smile. “Anything else you wanna know before you go all Sleeping Beauty on us again?”

Sam looked between Dean and Cas. He wanted to be sure. “Is he…” Sam couldn’t say the man’s name.

Dean nodded. “Dead. Yeah.”

Nodding slowly, Sam finally let the morphine drag him back down into a doze.

A day later, prescription painkillers in tow plus a wheelchair and crutches, Sam was discharged. Dean and Cas bundled Sam onto the backseat of the Impala and they headed for Lebanon.

The drive was short, by Winchester standards, clocking in at just over three hours. But where normally Dean might take things faster, Dean drove within the speed limit, working hard not to jerk the car around. Sam appreciated not being jerked and jolted around, because even with painkillers, things hurt. Perhaps it was a sign of him getting older, but he was sure he’d gone toe to toe with demons and come off better than this.

Despite all that had happened in the Bunker recently, Sam was glad to be back inside it once Dean parked up the Impala. No psychos in there bar the three of them and Sam was happy for that.

“Okay, so just plop your ass down here,” Dean encouraged as he held the wheelchair steady for Sam beside the car.

Sam was less happy about the fact that he needed the wheelchair. But with the injured leg, collarbone and surgical site from the spleen removal, plus the broken ribs: it wasn’t like Sam could hobble around on crutches yet. He couldn’t hold them, but also using them risked opening up where his spleen had been taken out. Having it fully removed meant the surgeons had to fully go in rather than use keyhole surgery.

Castiel’s calm, patient hands guided Sam into the wheelchair, and Sam had to ignore how the contact put him on edge. He didn’t want to be afraid of the two brightest things in his life. Didn’t want to cower from his lovers. So Sam put on a brave face and forced himself to relax.

The movement out of the car awakened Sam’s bladder and he had to steel himself before asking Dean if he could take him to the bathroom. It was embarrassing, but Dean took it in good humor.

“Fine, but I’m not shaking it for you. You can sit on the can like a girl for now.” Dean patted Sam’s right shoulder.

Castiel was off making coffee and putting groceries away, and in a way Sam was glad he wasn’t here to witness this moment of weakness.

Once Sam had been to the bathroom, Dean wheeled him into the kitchen. Sam watched as his brother made burgers and sweet potato fries—because Sam had gone nuts for some they’d eaten in South Carolina a few years ago, and Dean thought he’d cracked the recipe—for the two of them, and lots of coffee for Cas. Sam’s stomach growled at the smells and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten real food. Dean went on about how Sam needed to eat something before he could have his next dose of painkillers, and then went on to talk about a case that Jody was handling out at Sioux Falls.

Cas then took over talking while Dean continued to prep food. He talked about a whole bunch of nature and history documentaries that he’d found were going to be on TV in the coming week, plus he’d discovered that a show called _Aquarius_ was on Hulu. Sam listened as Cas explained that the show was a “dramatic retelling” (Cas used air quotes) of the culture and times that Charles Manson had been operating in.

A serial killer. Or a spree killer, certainly. Sam was silent after Cas finished spieling things off. What Charles Manson had been like was no mystery to Sam, and even with word that David Duchovny, who played a detective, was the main focus of the show—Sam was having doubts. It was one thing to read up of forensic psychology, criminology and true crime. To watch shows about it. But it was another to do all that and have lived it.

“I think we’ll just stick to the documentaries,” Sam said, ignoring the pain starting to come back to his body.

Cas squinted at Sam for a moment and then seemed to realize that maybe his second suggestion wasn’t so great. “I’m sorry, Sam. I didn’t think. Please, forgive me,” Cas grovelled in his usual husky voice. He bowed his head as he kneeled in front of Sam’s wheelchair.

“Hey,” Sam said, reaching out with his good right hand, “it’s okay,” he cupped Castiel’s right cheek, “really. Nothing to forgive.”

The angel looked up at Sam with a hopeful look and Sam nodded. “I’m serious, nothing to forgive.”

Dean cleared his throat from the other side of the kitchen. “I think I should point out that we have not watched _Jessica Jones_ or season two of _Daredevil_.”

Sam chuckled then winced. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

***

_A week later..._

“Dean?”

Putting down the book he’d been pouring over, a book on angels, Dean rubbed his face and finally looked at Cas. “Yeah, Cas?” Sam was having a nap in his room.

“I think… As well as some physical therapy once the worst of Sam’s injuries are healed, we should take him to see a therapist.” Cas stood beside the desk Dean was sat at, eyes looking everywhere but at Dean.

It hurt to have Cas feeling like he couldn’t meet Dean’s eyes, because he was suggesting something he obviously thought Dean would fight him over. But if Dean was being honest, he’d been thinking the exact same thing. Having his brother have to second guess every movement, every touch was something Dean thought he would never see again, once the hell memories had been taken.

“You know I would take them from Sam, if I had the power still to do so,” Cas continued, eyes still not meeting Dean’s.

Dean got up from his seat and stretched. The bones in his back clicked and cracked, reminding him of how old he was getting. It would be no good to get Sam physically fit again without finding help for his mind. And this time it wasn’t Lucifer running around in his brother’s head, it was some scum-of-the-Earth human. A regular therapist could handle that. Just, Sam would need to be careful about how he talked around things.

Wanting Cas to look at him and understand that Dean agreed, he stepped into Cas’s space and nuzzled at the angel’s cheek. He pulled his head away and Cas met his gaze. “I agree, Cas. He does need help. Completely. So tell you what, I’m gonna call Jody and Donna, maybe the Banes twins, see if they know anyone who’s used to dealing with people a bit like us.”

“There are therapists for hunters?” Cas gave Dean a puzzled look.

“No, but there are therapists all over the place who help people who work in high risk jobs. We might have to help Sam come up with a few white lies, but, help is help. And I’ve some money saved up from some investments… should be able to afford what Sam needs.” Dean kissed Castiel’s cheek.

“Okay. Good.” Castiel kissed Dean on the mouth.

“Mmmm, now why don’t we go see if maybe somebody wants hot chocolate?” Dean smiled.

“Well, I know I want hot chocolate,” Cas admitted.

“You always want hot chocolate, if not coffee.” Dean pointed his finger in Castiel’s chest. “Always.”

“Do you think there’s a way to combine hot chocolate and coffee?”

Dean smirked, winding an arm around Castiel’s waist. “That is what we call a mocha.”

Just as he was about to walk out of the library, Dean’s cell started to vibrate on the desk. He stepped away from Cas and looked at the caller display. It was Mary. Dean let the call go to voicemail.

“You need to talk to her eventually, Dean,” Cas said, winding his arm around Dean’s waist.

Dean shrugged and led them out of the office. “If she wants to stop running around with the British Men of Letters, then sure. But we’ve got a nephilim baby momma to find.”

Cas nodded and dropped the subject. And okay, maybe Dean had also not talked to Mary about what had really happened to Sam. He didn’t see how she had any real right to know. She hadn’t wanted to be part of the family, so she wasn’t part of it. And after all that bullshit with that fucking lance—with Cas almost dying—no, she didn’t deserve to know. Not that she was all that keen on the fact that Cas was “dating” Dean _and_ Sam (she had no idea they were all together).

Sam was still napping when they reached his bedroom. He looked peaceful, right arm slung over his face, mouth open as he gently snored. Dean didn’t want to wake him up, but he knew if he didn’t, Sam wouldn’t get much sleep during the night.

Flipping on the overhead light, Dean stepped in, Cas waiting in the door. Walking louder than he naturally would, Dean stepped over to the side of the bed. “Hey, Sam. Time to wake up.”

His little brother grunted and put his arm down. He blinked his eyes open, squinting in the light. “What time is it?”

“Time for some hot chocolate,” Cas said from the doorway.

A smile slipped onto Sam’s face and Dean’s heart stuttered. It was the first smile Dean had seen on Sam since they’d brought him home a week ago.

“Hmmm, do you think we can have some coffee in it?” Sam asked, using his good arm to push himself into a sitting position. He winced as he moved his bad leg over the edge of the bed.

“Ha, Cas asked the same thing. I’m sure we could try putting some in? Homemade mochas? Though more chocolate than coffee?”

“Mmm, sounds good.” Sam looked to his wheelchair next to the bed. He took a moment to finally stand on his one good leg and then sit down in the chair. Bending down in front of Sam, Dean flipped down the leg supports. He looked at the cast on Sam’s leg. It was still white. They needed to change that—he wondered if they had any Sharpies in the Bunker.

Getting behind the chair, Dean took the breaks off and started to wheel Sam out of the bedroom. The severity of the break meant that Sam was gonna be looking at least three months to recover, but no more, because Cas had been using small amounts of grace to ease the healing process. Not too much to damage his own reserves—Dean had been adamant on that.

“So… any word on Kelly?” Sam asked as they reached the kitchen.

“Zilch. Nadda,” Dean sighed.

“Well, I had an idea about how we could, I dunno, maybe let Kelly keep the baby, it just wouldn’t be a nephilim.”

That got Dean’s attention. “Well don’t keep it to yourself.”

“Okay, well, what if we use the grace needle on the baby? Remove its grace,” Sam suggested.

And even though Dean had been told about that little escapade that attempted to track down Gadreel, Dean still didn’t like thinking about it. Still, if it was gonna be used to stop the birth of a being that might destroy them, while also not killing it: had to be worth it, right?

“We’re listening…” Dean started getting out the ingredients that might be the start of a mocha, or a terrible crime against hot beverages. He promised to talk to Sam later about seeing a therapist.

***

_Three months later…_

The lakehouse had proven a good choice. Everyone was feeling better for the change in scenery. Castiel couldn’t remember the last time he had been so surrounded by nature. It was good to sit in the meadow grass and talk with the bees, or swim in the lake and race the trout that he found there.

Little had to be done to convince Kelly that her baby would be better off human, or near enough as. And in the month approaching her child’s birth, the four of them had decided to find somewhere above ground for Kelly and her baby. The Bunker was being watched over by the Banes twins and their hunter-witch mother.

It was strange how calm everything was at the lake. Occasionally he and Dean, or Dean and Sam, or him and Sam would go off to tackle a hunt, but they’d only be gone a few days tops. Mary had even visited once, though Castiel had seen little healing happen there, Mary had delighted in spending time with Kelly and her baby Jack.

Mary had whispers about the British Men of Letters, but apparently the fools that journeyed to America had crossed the wrong hunters. Two men who Castiel was aware Dean and Sam had met once the previous year had organized the Mexican, American and Canadian hunters and driven the Brits out.

Still, Mary had gone, with the promise of regular visits. But Sam had not told her his tale. No, the only person who had been talking to him about it in recent weeks had been a therapist that Jody had helped them find. They were an hour’s drive away from their spot, in North Cove, Washington, but Castiel knew Sam didn’t mind the trek. He seemed so much more rejuvenated with each session.

Hollow eyes became slowly brighter, and cautious touches had eventually turned into willing hugs and kisses. It was all so slow, but Castiel was use to things taking time, while Dean was less experienced. So the older brother had turned his attentions to fixing up the cottage the five of them were calling home.

Kelly never said anything of her protectors’ relationship with each other. But her easy smiles and grateful looks told Castiel that she wanted them around. And Jack was always happy for more arms to cuddle him, or hands to feed him, or chests to sleep on. It was all very “domestic” as Dean would say, usually with a wry grin on his face coupled with a look of disbelief.

Both brothers couldn’t believe what they were doing. But Castiel could—he understood the long road they had been on, the lives they had not lived. While they might be the best at hunting, they were not getting any younger. Sam’s injuries proved that and both men had, for once, taken stock of this fact.

Sat out in his meadow, Castiel watched the bees and the butterflies, little buzzing flies that paid him no mind. He allowed his grace to gently spread and feel beyond himself. Connect him to the world at large.

“Cas?”

“Hello, Sam.”

The younger Winchester gently eased himself to the grass, loan crutch laid down beside him as he scooted next to Castiel. His leg was still recovering, but he could put weight on it. His recovery was being aided, still, by Castiel’s grace and regular physical therapy appointments.

“Thought I might find you here. How’re the bees?”

“Busy. I was thinking of building some apiaries for them. I think the honey might help with Kelly and Dean’s allergies… should we remain here for a prolonged period.” Castiel turned and leaned in towards Sam. “May I?”

Sam nodded, bangs flopping around his forehead. Castiel leaned in further and kissed Sam gently on the lips. He kept it light, allowing Sam to choose what happened next. And Sam chose to part his lips and allow Castiel to slip his tongue inside. The kiss made Castiel’s grace furl out and his ragged wings stretch and flutter in the space between this plain and the next. The grass around them moved with the downdraft and Sam pulled away to look at Castiel with a curious gaze.

“How come you can help my leg heal, but your wings…”

“It might come as a surprise to you Sam, but there are some things even I don’t know.”

“Maybe I could—”

“No, Sam, my wings don’t need to be your next research project.”

“Fiiiiiiiiiine.” Sam gave Castiel a pointed look. “But you’re gonna have to stop Dean from making two pies today.”

“Two? I thought he was going to look at the solar panels today.”

Sam shrugged. “I was looking up something on that vampire case for Alicia, but then he kicked me out of the kitchen, saying he needed the table. And then the pie dishes had come out.”

They really did need the solar panels checked. Castiel got to his feet and helped Sam back up. “Perhaps, together, we can get him down to one pie and the panels being checked before it becomes too warm.”

“I found _the_ shorts in the washer earlier,” Sam said as he hobbled towards their cottage.

Castiel had to think for a moment which shorts Sam might be referring to.

“You know, _the_ shorts.”

The memory hit him at once. Bunker garage and Dean washing the Impala. “I thought he left them at the Bunker.”

“Apparently not.”

Castiel swallowed. They approached the cabin. “Think he’ll wear them tonight if we ask?”

“Wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

Finally they reached the back door that opened into the kitchen and they headed inside. They were too late. There was already enough crust in the mixing bowl for two pies. Dean turned to them and grinned.

“Hey. There’s fresh coffee if you want it,” Dean greeted. He turned his attention back to his baking.

Castiel walked over to the coffee maker, never one to say no to fresh coffee, and poured Sam and himself a cup. “Where’s Kelly?”

“Her and Jack were watching yesterday’s _Ellen_ , last I checked.”

Sam cleared his throat and jerked his head towards Dean.

 _Right, the solar panels_. “Will you be able to check the solar panels this morning?”

Dean dusted his hands free of flour and turned around to face Castiel and Sam. “Sure. But I actually think the problem is the batteries.”

Shifting discussion to whether they’d been fleeced on the installation, Castiel settled in at the table along with Sam and the two of them watched Dean work. Sam was calm and happy beside him, and Castiel felt content.

What the three—five—of them had, wasn’t normal. But it was happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this fic.
> 
> I will endeavour to respond to as many comments as I can, and kudos is always appreciated.
> 
> We're planning on running the Team Free Will Big Bang again in 2018, so please keep an eye on the bang's [Tumblr for updates](https://tfwbigbang.tumblr.com/).
> 
> And where can you follow me? You can find me over on Tumblr at [dreamsfromthebunker](https://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com).


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